


RSASS and Shine

by pricemactavish



Series: The Coffee Shop AU [1]
Category: Call of Duty
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M, Makarov is an asshole in every universe, Wow So Many References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pricemactavish/pseuds/pricemactavish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>RSASS And Shine is a decidedly unique little cafe in Hereford, England owned by best friends, Ghost, Roach, and Soap.<br/>His friends have each other, but all Soap has is his journal and his cat, until a new face comes in through the squeaky-but stylishly bullet lined door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	RSASS and Shine

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a coffee shop au for Soap/Price and - whew, this was exhausting to write..but I don't regret a thing. I /may/ write a sequel to this story someday. I'm sort of fond of this universe now, nice to write Soap/Price and Ghost/Roach in a war free world, no pain, no death, just fluff and cute and coffee. *_*
> 
> Hellraiser the cat is inspired by my own kitten, by the way.
> 
> art by this lovely person: http://darkereus.tumblr.com/

RSASS and Shine started as a joke. A drunken joke. Ghost and Soap were at the pub, sloshed out of their minds one night after quitting another terrible job, when it came to them.

"Soap, mate. I'm bloody tired of the man." Ghost slurred out, his hand slapped on Soap's shoulder repeatedly.

"Huh? I've never known you to be tired of any man. In fact, I saw you checking out tall, blonde, and handsome over there."

"Shhshh..oh that's very funny and maybe a little true. But..listen, I'm serious, you know the man."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I wanna do something, you know? We should do something for ourselves!"

"You mean...work for ourselves?"

"Now yer gettin' it."

"What the bloody hell could we do? Run a coffee shop or some shite?"  
It was a joke. A harmless, not to be taken seriously, joke. But as the two stared at each other for a few seconds, it all clicked into place. That was the night that changed everything.

  
When the woke up the next day, Soap was passed out on the couch, clearly not able to make it to his own room in his previous drunken state and Ghost was in his bed - well more half on his bed, half on the ground, with said tall, blonde, and handsome also present. They somehow remembered the previous night's conversation.

"Ghost..you uh, remember what we were talking about last night? 'Bout buying a coffee shop?"

"Can you not..yell?" Ghost pinched his fingers at the top of his nose and waved the other hand around.

Soap eyed him, exasperated, and shoved a cup of his hangover cure over to Ghost, lots of hot sauce. Old family recipe.

"Bless your soul, mate." Ghost took a large gulp and looked over the edge of the glass. "We could do it."

"Why the hell not." Soap said with a shrug of his shoulders.

Later that day, much much later, mind you, after the hangovers had fully left their system and they didn't feel like death twice revived, they hit the town, looking all over, trying to find the perfect place. Ghost was dead set on finding one that "spoke to him".

"It's a building, you numpty, it's not going to talk to you."

"If it's 'the one' it will." Ghost insisted.

"Uh huh."

  
Turned out, 'the one' was a shitty, old, broken down, abandoned shop. The term 'shop' is used loosely. Ghost insisted that the place had "bloody great potential!", Soap wasn't too sure. But, conveniently, it was in a decent location, right down the street from a university and it was dirt cheap, but needed massive renovation. In the end, the two of them bullshitted their way through the restoration and prayed that the repairs would hold up. They were successful, for the most part, except for the front door, which had a irritating squeak. Soap settled on painting bullet holes on the outside of it, as much as he was tempted to make them legit.

RSSAS and Shine was..quite a different kind of coffee place. Ghost and Soap had a shared interested for the military and military related things, so that became their theme. Military and coffee, to quote Ghost, "What's a better combination than that!" Apparently nothing, since Soap enthusiastically agreed with the idea and right away started designing their logo.

 

A couple weeks before the opening, a young man showed up, he was in his early twenties, had sandy blonde hair, a clean shaven face, sheepish smile, and was very American.

That was a life changing moment for one Simon Riley.

"His name is Gary." Ghost busted through the door of their place late the next afternoon.

Soap was sketching in his journal at the kitchen's bar, not bothering to look up to his friend. "Hmm?"

"Gary, Gary Sanderson. He's perfect, mate. Perfect, American, funny, sweet, gorgeous, he has the greenest eyes I've ever seen in my life, and these freckles..and messy hair...I just..I'm in love." Ghost sunk down in the bar stool next to Soap, a dreamy look on his face, running his fingers through his short, choppy black hair. Soap looked up and closely examined him.

"Wait, is this about that guy that was at the shop yesterday wanting some coffee? I'm guessing your date went well?"

"I'm in love."

"Yeah, you mentioned that...you sure?" Soap knew his friend well, ever since he answered the ad online about him needing a roommate five years ago, he's never seen his friend in a serious relationship. Ghost wasn't one for boyfriends or 'love'. He much preferred a one night stand with some guy he found out in the town. No strings, no attachments. The man across from Soap was like a whole new person. Glowing, goddamn glowing, saying words like 'love' without cringing or sneering, smiling more than he's ever seen..and..well, looked pretty damn happy, genuinely so.

"Not a doubt in my mind. I've never met anyone like him before..he's just..amazing. I think we're soulmates."

Another thing Ghost had right, him and Gary were practically inseparable after their night together. Gary ended up cutting his European vacation short and moving from America to come and live in with them in Hereford a couple weeks after the two of them started dating. He invested his own money in the coffee shop too. Even earned the nickname 'Roach' after a...trying incident with a tiny infestation of cockroaches a few days after they started to repair the supply closet in the back. He was the one who took them all down single-handedly, it was a tough fight. Ghost cheered his boyfriend on, from a distance, that is. A far distance. Soap refused to enter the shop. Bloody cockroaches.

  
  
Starting a coffee shop isn't as easy as it sounds. After you fix the hell out of a rundown place..it turns out you have to know how to make coffee and name the coffee. It wasn't as simple as picking the name for the cafe was.

"Favorite sniper rifle..3...2...1..." Ghost counted down.

"RSASS!" Soap, Roach, and Ghost said in unison.

"RSASS and Shine it is." Ghost concluded, wrapping his arms around Roach's torso.

"What if we said Barrett M82, Ghost?" Soap questioned, staring at the two.

"Then 'Barrett M82 and Shine' would be the most unfortunate name of a coffee joint ever."

"Right up there next to the M14 EBR and Shine." Roach said, sealing the new name of the shop with a kiss on Ghost's lips.

   


The coffee making part, proved to be a bit more difficult. For Ghost, at least.  


"Think I can get a online diploma for this, Bug?" Ghost sat on the coach in their house, crossed legged with his laptop, browsing the internet.

Roach peeked around the corner from the kitchen to the living room. "For making coffee? Really...Simon."

"What do you think, Soap?"

Soap shook his head in disbelief, continuing his experimenting with different types of coffee. "You know Ghost, maybe Roach and me should handle the coffee part, you focus on..something else." He yelled from his place in the kitchen. Roach disappeared to the living room for awhile and walked back in a couple minutes later, his hair was more messy than usual and his face was flushed. Soap smirked.

The younger man walked over to the cups of coffee on the kitchen counter, looking over each one, finally he picked up one and took a sip, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "This is really good! What is it?"

"Think I'll call it..'Oscar Mocha'."

"You guys are really dead set on this military theme, aren't you?" Roach asked with an arched brow.

"Aye. Didn't you see our nice gun replica collection hanging up around there? There's no turning back now."

Roach laughed and picks up another cup, when he takes a drink, he nearly moans at the taste. "Soap..I think it's your calling to make coffee."

Soap crosses his arms, beaming with accomplishment. "Ah, that's my signature cup, 'Crew Espresso'."

"Crew what?"

"Like crew expendable, but it's an espresso? Don't know, thought it sounded alright."

"Who the hell cares about the name, this shit is amazing."

"Careful there, that shite is also strong, I put a double shot in it, too much and you'll be bouncing off the bloody walls. Made a couple others too..Back on the Grind, Delta Decaff, Frap Out, Bravo Macchiato, One Shot One Kill. Be even more cautious with the last, it's a huge shot of pure coffee, with a bit of a 'kicker' in it."

"And what is that kicker?"

"Scottish cream."

"You mean Irish Cream?"

"Come on, Roach, I'm Scottish, not Irish. It's a family recipe..though it does..slightly resemble the taste of Irish Cream."

"Oh right, sorry." Roach said sarcastically, taking a good look at 'Frap Out'. "Soap, I can make some awesome baked stuff for the shop. Cookies, muffins, bagels. It was kinda my thing back in the states."

Soap glanced up from the near perfect cup of Bravo Macchiato. "Don't ever tell Ghost that or he'll want a never ending supply." Soap warned, leaning in toward Roach.

"He's bound to find out eventually."

"Aye. M'Sorry, mate, hope you're ready for 'bottomless stomach Simon'. You've basically made a lifelong commitment to him already."

"I sure did." But there's a smile on Roach's face, Soap returned it and patted Roach comradely on the shoulder.

  
  
Soap became the main barista, even agreed to wear an apron, as long as it came in camo.  


  
In a couple weeks, RSSAS and Shine was open for business. They gained a good reputation fast, becoming a new favorite amongst the young college crowd and some of the teachers.

One year later, Soap MacTavish had his own life changing day.  
  


  
Soap carefully finished the logo on top of the cup of coffee with the steamed milk, their shop's sign of the skull with a sword down the middle and wings on the side. Only talented hands like his could get it right, Roach gave it a go once..but it turned out looking more like a butterfly. Ghost simply said, "Bloody, bug. Livin' up to the name." Soap, in the nicest way of course, refused to let him do it ever again.

He heard the peevish sound of chiming bells and the unnerving squeak of the door, but didn't bother to check it out. Sadly, he's become used to the noise to the point where he heard it in his head when he was going to sleep. Stuff nightmares are made of. He added the wings on the cup of Bravo Macchiato and placed it on the counter.

"69, your coffee is ready." He announced over the low chatter of the shop, then quieter to himself, "69. What a bloody idiot..real original there.."

The sound of a throat clearing made his head snap to the right.

"Shite..hope you didn't hear that. Um, we value our customers here, sir, and we refrain from insulting them..most of the time." His eyes fell to the person behind the throat clearing. And, Oh. Oh. He was handsome. Older than him, a bit taller, dressed moderately casual with a black button up shirt, he could see a white t-shirt peaking underneath, full beard on a strong jawed face, and a..was that a boonie hat on his head? He definitely belonged here. Soap swallowed hard, realizing that it probably looked like he was checking the older man out, not that he was.

He was.

"Ah, um, hello sir, what can I get for you?" Soap managed to stutter out, he wanted to bash his head against the solid granite counter top. The older man's eyes darted across his face, his expression unreadable. Was it really fair to have eyes that blue? The man put on a hand on the counter and seemed to analyze the menu, a small smirk fell on his lips but he quickly dropped it, while Soap tried to avert his eyes anywhere else besides on the very attractive man's face, fuck, even his hand was good looking. This isn't fair.

"Never been here before, anything you recommend?" Soap froze a little when the man's voice hit his ears, a dry, drawn out, raspy British tone. Typically, that question drove Soap a little crazy, but right now, he was more than happy to help.

"Recommendations? Hm..well they're all fantastic, let me tell you that. And that's not just because I made 'em. If you're looking for a good wake up call, I'd say go for the One Shot, One Kill, but I will need to see an ID." Soap pulled a half grin and gave a wink before turning back to face the menu. The man in the hat simply stood there, waiting for him to continue, hand still planted on the counter. "Frap Out is also a popular one 'round here, but it's a little too nippy outside for that, in my opinion. Doesn't stop these mad people from ordering them. I would say the best thing on the menu is Crew Espresso, won't make you feel like you could run a marathon in your boxer shorts, but it still has a good kick, and, it's my specialty." Soap let out a breath and turned back so he was facing the man. He inwardly face-palmed at himself, he's never been the best at flirting.

"I'll take that then." Was there a smile on the man's face? Was it so small that Soap could barely make it out? He couldn't be sure, but he was filled with a hint of pride that the man picked his best cup.

"Man after my own heart. That'll be £2. Will you be taking that to go or staying here?"

"To go, my lunch break is nearly over." The older man reached inside his pocket to retrieve his wallet and pulled the money out, placed it on the counter and slid it towards Soap, his eyes snapped back up to Soap's face. Soap sucked in a breath, took the money, and put it in the cash register, he mustered up the nerve to look the man in the eyes.

"Your number-I mean, favorite number?" Soap said, a little too fast.

"Excuse me?"

"What's your favorite number? That's what we use to identify people here for when they pick up their orders, don't want any issues with spelling the names horribly wrong. Usually ends bad." Soap said mock-clinically, pointing to the scar that cut vertically across his left eye, the man reacted with a incredulous expression. "Just messin." Soap gave him a smile.

The man's eyes flicked to look off to the side, then back at Soap. "Alright then, ...141." He decided.

"Hm, interesting. Most people pick 7 or 13...or worse, 69, like that lovely chap over there." He nodded towards the said offender.

"Well, I'm not one for following the typical. I like to keep people guessing." The man leaned a bit further in towards him, amused glint in his eyes, but still, no smile. Soap couldn't help but move closer as well.

"Ah, I like and respect that in a man." He grinned again, what was the deal? He's never smiled this much, in this short amount of time, at one person. "I should get to making your order now, heh." Soap cursed himself under his breath and went to mixing the coffee, trying to calm the foreign feeling of butterflies in his stomach in order to get the symbol right on top of the espresso.

"Here you go, 141." Soap said warmly, handing him the coffee, their fingers touch for a second, long enough for Soap to feel a tingle run through him. The man's expression was still indecipherable, but he slipped him a tip, another two pounds. Soap was about to refuse, but the man simply lifted his other free hand, silencing all rejections.

"Thanks...Soap." The man looks from his name tag and back up to his face, arching a brow rather high, confusion flashing his features. "What the hell kind of name is Soap, eh?"

Soap was sure he'd never heard a drier voice than that.

"It's a nickname. Everyone who works here has one. Ghost, one of my best mates, and that guy over there is Ghost's boyfriend and the talented baker, his name's Roach. The three of us run the place together. Nicknames are just our thing."

"Hmm, right. I need to go. Thanks, again." He gave Soap something as close to a smile Soap had seen on his face the whole time and turned to leave.

"Of course, no problem, 141. See you soon, eh?" Fuck, he hoped so. Soap watched him the whole time he walked out the door and down the street. The man didn't turn back once.

   


There were customers who were just plain morons, like 69, the incredibly rare customers that made Soap's heart skip a beat or two with their unbelievably good looking faces, like 141. Then, there was the one customer, so bad that he needed his own code name.

"Oi, heads up, mate. Kingfish is heading your way." Ghost spoke urgently while nudging Soap.

"Shite.." Soap mumbled under his breath, glancing towards to the door to see that, in fact, customer 627, Vladimir Makarov, was here. For some reason unknown still to this day, Makarov hated Soap. He's never understood it, and sadly, he's the one who has to put up with him. The guy has had it out for Soap for months. Soap figures that Makarov is miserable and hates everyone. One day, Ghost joked that he probably has the hots for Soap but doesn't know how to deal with it. He nearly socked Ghost into next week for that one.

"The usual. This time do try not to add so much cream." Makarov spat out with his strong Russian accent, slapping the money on the counter. He muttered something quieter, in Russian this time, glaring hard at Soap.

"Alright." Soap said tersely, collecting the money and turning away from the man and his creepy eyes to make his typical order, Back on the Grind. Plain black coffee, just the good shit, with vanilla-caramel cream and sugar. But Makarov only wanted it with the smallest amount of cream possible, holding the sugar. Bitter as the man himself.

Roach gives Soap a strangled, weak smile in an attempt to lighten the tense atmosphere that now loomed over the coffee shop. Ghost liked to fuck with Makarov by making him as uncomfortable as possible, such as kissing Roach right in front of him, and he decided right now was the proper moment to do it again. Makarov sneered at them in disgust.

"Here, have a nice...day." Soap tried to sound as sincere as he could when he hands him the coffee, but he didn't have to try too hard because before he could finish his sentence, Makarov was already out the door, coffee in hand. Thank god for Ghost and Roach's excessive hands-on-ness, he looks back to his friends.

"I owe ya, guys...guys? Ack." He turned away from the display, Ghost was getting too feely on Roach. Now he was going to have to clean that counter. He sighed, tapping at the side of the cash register, his thoughts return to customer 141 and his gorgeous blue eyes and dry voice and soft looking beard that he wanted nothing more than to rub his face against. He strokes at his face, trying to wipe away the flushing grin that threatened to show.

Ghost eventually broke away from kissing Roach, giving him a quick caress on the cheek before walking over to Soap.

"You alright, mate? You've go this stupid smile on your face. Couldn't have been because of Kingfish."

"Bugger off, Ghost. It's nothing."

"Ah, AH. I see. Someone was checking out a customer, eh? Who was it?" Ghost skimmed the room, no man or woman really catching his eye.

"Drop it, he already left, ok?"

"Did he now? I'll just have to keep an extra good watch on the customers from now on, gotta see who finally caught the eyes of Soap MacTavish. I have to admit, I was losing hope for your love life." Soap glared at Ghost, who just laughs and lightly shoves his arm, then returns back to his station next to Roach, not before slapping Roach on the ass, making him jump.

"Sodding arse.." Soap mumbled, shaking his head. He cups his hands over his mouth and shouts to Ghost, "Don't forget to wash your hands, ya numpty!"

   
  
  
  


  
It was over a week before Soap saw customer 141 again. Ironically enough, it was the same day Soap was itching to draw something on his short break, and his mind seemed to be all consumed with 141's handsome face, beard, and ridiculous hat. He hunched over the counter, sketching by memory the angles of the older man's face, shading and adding the proper accents of light that hit his cheekbones in the coffee shop. He heard the chiming sound of bells on the door again, and ever since that day he walked in, Soap's head snapped up every time he heard the noise. He let out a whoosh of air. It was him. The journal was quickly snapped shut and shoved under the counter. 141 was wearing a different boonie hat, Soap had a feeling he owned one in every color of camo, and another button up shirt, with what looks like two jackets. This man did love his layers.

"Hello, haven't see you in a while." Soap greeted him. Great, now he sounded like he's been thinking about him a lot. The journal under the counter seemed to scream the obvious out loud, almost begging to be discovered by the older man.

"I was out of town for a while, had some lectures to give."

"Ah, so that mystery is solved. You a teacher at the college?"

"You got me, now my identity is compromised. Afraid I'll have to find a new coffee shop." Professor 141 joked, it was a playful tone that was a complete 180 from their first meeting.

Soap tsk'd and shook his head regrettably. "Ah, guess Roach and me will have to go to plan B."

"What's that?"

"We planted C4s in all the other cafes in town, have to blow 'em now. Can't lose valuable customers, especially ones that tip so well."

"That's why you really noticed I was gone, isn't it?" The older man asked flatly, but Soap could sense the dry wit enough to know he wasn't serious.

"No, no sir. I assure you. Cross my heart." He did the motion, earnest smile on his face. "You're just a hard man to forget, that's all." Soap couldn't stop the words from leaving his mouth. The other man seemed to stare deeper at him, damn did he have a good poker face. He hoped he didn't go too far there, maybe he should dial it back. "So, what would you like? Same as last time?" Soap tried to convince himself that it was the fact that he had a shockingly good memory for the real reason he remembered his previous order.

141 didn't seem to think anything of it, causally replying, "Hm, yes. And a.. .50CAL Bagel, is it? Are they any good?"

"Aye, they're killer, knock your arm right off with how delicious they are. Roach is the best baker in the whole town, whole country I'd reckon." Soap gave the man a cheesy lopsided smile, he can almost see the edges of the other man's mouth twitch up. Roach is heard audibly groaning in embarrassment to the side.

"Sounds deadly, I'll take one and the coffee."

"Daring man, I'll get that for you." Soap gets the man's order ready, delaying the mixing of the coffee, steaming of the milk as long as possible, and giving special care to perfect the symbol on top. When he picks the bagel out of the display case with a piece of wax paper he catches Roach glancing from him to 141, a knowing look on his face. Soap hurriedly leaves Roach and his prying eyes to hand the order over the older man, who thanks him, and once again leaves a tip. And just like that, he's gone. A small pout falls on Soap's mouth.

"Hah!" Ghost popped up next to him, yelling, shaking Soap out of his state of moping.

"Bloody fuck, Ghost." Soap breathed out, trying to steady his heart rate.

"Seems I've finally spotted the apple of your eye. The object of your affection, the love of your life."

"You done?" Soap stared blankly at him.

"I could keep going if you want." Ghost shrugged.

"No, thanks, I'm good." Soap said shortly.

"Hmmm..can't say he's what I was expecting." Ghost's voice is thoughtful, he taps at his chin.

Soap's eyes narrow. "What does that mean?"

"Don't know, he seems a little older than you, that's all."

"So? I'm a grown man, he's a grown man. Who cares? But that's not the point, he's probably not interested in me anyways." Soap said gloomily, picking at his apron and flicking off the stray pieces of ground coffee.

"Hey, take it easy. I wasn't saying it was a bad thing, there's an age difference with Bug and me too. Older men, more experience..I get it. He was a handsome bloke. Just didn't know you liked older guys, well honestly, I didn't really think you were into much of anyone. Every time we'd go out, you were more interested in writing in your journal and drinking alone in a corner, deflecting every man and woman that hit on you."

"Can you shut it already? I don't have a 'type'. I..like who I like. Pretty sure he fits that category."

"I'm bloody happy for you, mate! Now you need to ask him out."

"What? Ghost, I think you're losing oxygen, why don't you ask Roach to blow some in you."

"I'd rather ask him to blow something else instead." Ghost said cheekily.

"Oh god, please leave." Soap ran a hand through his mohawk as Ghost snickered and walked away.

 

A couple hours later, it's break time, he pulled the journal from under the counter again and resumed his drawing of Professor 141. It was nice to know what he did for a living. Still, he wanted to get to know the man more, at the very least learn his name. He sighed, shading in the infuriatingly soft looking beard. Soap has always had a weakness for facial hair, and this man's beard was becoming an obsession of his. He bites his lip to keep the smile from falling on his lips.  
Makarov helps the fight against the smile by showing up not more than 10 minutes later all but killing his good mood.

  
"I tell you, Roach, the guy has it in for me. He sent back his coffee 6 times. I'm exhausted." Soap slumped in a chair after closing time, elbows resting on the table.

"He's an asshole, Soap, don't let him get to you." Roach wipes the tables, and gives him a good-natured smile.

Soap rests his chin on the palm of his hand. "I'll never understand how a nice guy like you fell for a complete moron like Ghost."

"He's great in bed." Roach said with a roll of his shoulders.

Soap scoffed out a laugh. "Apparently, he's corrupted you more than I thought."

On cue, Ghost appears from the backroom with a box of sugar packs to refill the station, grinning from ear to ear. "You got that right, and if you leave right now, I'll corrupt him some more against this condiment station."

"Don't even bloody think about it, Riley." Soap threatened, leaning back in his chair.

"Just kidding, mate, you worry too much." Ghost put his arms around Roach from behind and kissed his cheek, whispering something in the younger man's ear, Soap had a good idea what it was about by the way the blush rose on Roach's face.

Soap goes back to sketching in his journal, finally finishing up the drawing he was attempting to do earlier, before Kingfish decided to come and ruin his peace. He smudges his finger against the side of 141's jaw, lingering at bit.

   
  
  
  
  


The following day, Soap needed a distraction, anything to keep his mind from thinking about bloody sexy Professor 141 with his devilishly handsome face and witty words. Good thing it was his break. In Soap's world that meant one of two things, art time or smoke time. Today, it was smoke time. He walked out the cursedly creaking entrance door with the cheerful sounding bell and leaned against the brick wall and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. He wrapped his long scarf around his neck tighter and hugged his dark blue RSASS And Shine hoodie closer to his body, rubbing his hands on the sides of his arms. Another freezing winter day in Hereford..wonderful. He picked a cigarette from the pack and placed it between his lips, just as he went to fish out his lighter, he felt a presence next to him.

"You shouldn't smoke." A deep, gravelly voice spoke.

Soap would have turned and told the person behind the comment to kindly sod off, but he recognized the voice immediately, the one that's been in his head all day, or the past few days to be honest. 141 himself walked closer to him, dressed in a very warm looking thick gray jacket, and, for once something other than a boonie hat on his head. In place was a black beanie, which was simultaneously the cutest and hottest thing he'd ever seen. The man pulled a lighter from a pocket on his chest and moved to light the cigarette in Soap's mouth, Soap breathed in as the flame hit the end, glancing from the cigarette to the man's face, which was quite close to his at this point. Enough to where he could smell his clean scent with a tinge of tobacco. When it was lit, he took a deep drag, and pulled it away from his lips, blowing out and nodding a silent thanks to the other man.

"Take it from someone older and wiser." Professor 141 said wryly, pulling a cigar from his own coat, putting it between his teeth, lighting it, and holding it with two fingers.

"You don't look old." Soap said, taking another hit of the cigarette, eyes squinted as he looked at the other man, eyeing up and down his body. Even if he was older..he was fit. Damn fit.

"43." The man said as if it explained everything, Soap could see the smoke from both of them mixing and mingling together in the air.

"28...29 in three weeks."

"See, I'm much older."

"Aah, not really, who gives a shite 'bout age differences. I mean..with experiences and stuff. It's just 15 years. "

"15 more years to know that smoking is bad for you."

"Yet here you are, out here with me, smoking cigarettes."

"This is a cigar." The other man said matter-of-factly, raising a brow.

"Aye, but a cigar is just half way to a cigarette."

"Please, Soap, cigars are in a completely different league, taste better too."

Soap tried not to read too much into the way the other man said his name, the way it sent a pleasant thrill through his body. "Never had one."

"Shame, that is. Here, try this sometime." The man pulled a cigar from inside of his jacket and handed it over to Soap, who hesitates for a moment, then takes it.

"Thanks." Soap tucked the cigar carefully into his own hoodie pocket. "Thought you said smoking was bad."

"Also never said I was the greatest influence. I just try to be." The man smirked at him, Soap was certain now that this must be his version of a genuine smile. Soap returned it before taking another long drag from his cigarette, the man mirrored him, doing the same. They exhaled at the same time, effectively smoke screening their path with the hot air and smoke from their breath.

"You come here for my specialty cup of espresso? I know it's hard to keep away." Soap tapped the end of the cigarette, ashes hitting the concrete.

"It is.. it certainly is." His tone suggested that he was referring to something else, but he quickly changed tune. "Those bagels are pretty fantastic too, can't say it blew my arm off, but maybe my taste buds."

"Hm, can't take credit for those."

"The service is especially top notch. That's what really keeps people coming back." He glanced sideways at Soap, blowing smoke out of his mouth in damn near seductive way. Soap coughed a couple times, inhaling too much of his own cigarette smoke.

"We aim to please. Ghost can be a sodding idiot and some days he insists on serving customers wearing this skull balaclava, but he's a good guy. And Roach is the bloody nicest bloke you'll ever meet."

"And then there's you.."

"Me? Well I'm...I'm." Soap started, clearly not comfortable talking about himself.

"Charming, talented, funny, easy to talk to.." The other man finished for him, filling in the blanks with things he never would have picked for himself.

"Huh? Me? You might be mistaken there, sir." Soap flushed lightly and scratched the back of his neck.

"Nope. I think that's about right."

"Sure, sure. You're looking to become a secret Bravo 6 member, aren't you? Buttering up the barista."

"Bravo 6?"

"Mmm, the exclusive club of RSASS and Shine customers we really like. They get discount coffee, extra splashes of Scottish cream, and sometimes, Ghost will serenade them with a song of their choice."

"You made that up on the top of your head, didn't you?" The man asked skeptically.

"Aye, sure did. Can't say I've ever been good at taking complements. Bad trait of mine." Soap said, flicking ash to the ground.

"I meant what I said. You don't need to be so modest."

"Ah, thanks, shite I'll uh..try to work on that."

"Good." Price smiled over at him, cigar in hand.

Soap looks down, kicking at the ground with his combat boots. There has been one thing eating at him for a while. "So Professor 141, you gotta have a name."

"I do."

"I do? That a name? Have to say that's a new one for me."

Price shook his head with a small laugh. "You can call me Price."

Soap's mouth upturned on one end. "Seems like we're not the only ones with, ah, interesting nicknames."

"It's not not a nickname, technically. It's my last name." Price puffed on his cigar.

"What's your first name then? Are we not acquainted enough for me to have the privilege to know it? I do know your coffee order and all. But you don't have to tell me if you don't want to." Soap's tone was playful, disguising how desperate he was to hear his full name. It was driving him crazy at this point, he needed to put a name to the face, the one that burned in his memory, and the journal in his hoodie pocket. He didn't want him to be another number, he needed to know the man behind it all. The man who smiled at him now.

"Hah, it's fine. John, my name's John." 141-Price said evenly, tapping the cigar to loosen the stray ashes. Soap watches them drift to the ground as he stifles a laugh.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"What's wrong?"

"My name is John too. John MacTavish."

They share a laugh, the sound warms Soap from the inside out.

"Plainest name there is, eh? No wonder why we insist on going by nicknames." Price said, his voice effectively eradicating all traces of cold sensations.

"Too right, Price. Can't get more ordinary than John. Doesn't seem to fit either you or me." It felt good to finally say the man's name, have it in his memory, he loved the way it felt rolling off his tongue.

"Suppose not, the name Soap does seem to match you, odd as it is."

"People say that more than you'd think, actually." Soap finished up the last of his cigarette and walked over to the ashtray on top of the garbage can and crushed it. Every part of him wanted to stay out here and talk to Price for hours but alas..break time was only 10 minutes and it was lunchtime, which means a flood of customers. "Shite it's cold out here, and I...need to head back to work." Soap said ruefully, tilting his head in the direction of the shop.

"Well, Soap..I could go for that cup of espresso now."

"Crew Espresso?" Soap couldn't keep the smile off his face as he asked.

"Hmm, might have a double shot today. Think I could have a spot of that Scottish cream too?" Price asked with quirk of his lips.

Soap tenses for a second when he feels Price's hand touch his arm, even through the layers of his clothes could feel the heat from it, and how right it felt to be there. The hand stayed on for some time, before Price pulled it off, his fingers grazing across his forearm.

"Why not, you did successfully become the first and only member of Bravo 6, better pick out a song you want Ghost to sing to you. Though I warn you, it won't be pretty."

Price holds the door open for Soap to enter first. He normally would laugh off such a ridiculous gesture, but somehow when Price was the one doing it, it was cute and cheesy, in a good way. Ah, Price, a proper gentleman.

Later, after he was long gone, Soap pulled the journal out of his hoodie and wrote the name ' _ **Price**_ ' boldly at the bottom of the finished drawing.

 

 

At the end of the day, Soap made the horrible decision of filling in Ghost on the smoke break.

"His name is John. John Price."

"Hold up, this is rich, you're both John? Imagine getting married, you'd both be John MacTavish or John Price. That is hilarious."

Soap instantly regretted informing Ghost of the whole same name thing from earlier that day. He should have predicated this would be the outcome.

"There is such a thing as hyphened names, Ghost.." Soap said irritably, packing up the last of the leftover bagels from the day to give to their friends, Nikolai and Yuri, who ran a homeless shelter. They always gave their leftover, unsold food to them, rather than wasting and tossing them out.

"Ok then...Oi, Bug!" Roach walked out of the kitchen, untied his apron and stared at Ghost expectantly. Ghost slid over to him and put his arm around his waist, hand thrust out in Soap's direction. "Let me introduce you to the future John Price-MacTavish! Or..John MacTavish-Price. MacPrice? PriceTavish? What do you think's best, lovebug?"

"Simon, think maybe you could stop tormenting your best friend?"

"Thanks, Roach." Soap called from the display case, shooting Ghost another annoyed stare.

"Tormenting?" Ghost looked scandalized. "Your words cut me, Bug. I'm only being happy for a man that's like a brother to me. It's true love innit, Soap? Doesn't it feel amazing? The glory of love. Ah."

"I think you're enjoying this too much, mate." Soap shook his head and closed up the box. "Could you two can drop this by Yuri and Nikolai's place? I'll finish here and lock up."

"Sure thing, Soap." Roach walks over and picks up the box of food, before leaning in to whisper to Soap. "Don't worry, I'll make sure he gets his mind on other things before we head home."

"That was both helpful and on the border of divulging far too much information, but thanks, mate."

Roach gives him a friendly nod and calls for Ghost.

"Better practice what you preach, MacTavish. No ravishing handsome older men against the condiment counter! You have a perfectly good bed at home!" Ghost gets the last word - or words in, as he's dragged out the door by Roach.

Soap's face falls into his palm, wondering momentarily how he even made friends with a guy like Simon Riley..and why he would, even after a comment like that, still call him a brother. He makes a silent prayer to whoever is listening for Gary Sanderson, without him, Ghost would be far more intolerable right now.

  
Soap finishes up at the coffee shop, the silence a welcome comfort, although, it allowed his mind to think too much. He ran through the whole scene that played out with him and Price earlier. The easy smiles, the laughter, the way they seemed to lean in to each other without even noticing. It was safe to say that he had never felt this way before. Ever.

He locks up the front door of the cafe, which still creaked like it was bound to fall apart, apparently none of them had the skills to fix this problem. He cussed at the thing and made his way home. Thankfully, they only lived two blocks away, it was a quick trip, but with this freezing weather, it seemed much longer. He shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his trousers and walked a bit faster, but just as he was about to turn the street corner to his block, he noticed a familiar shape..along with a not so familiar one. Price. Soap nearly flew into the shadows and watched the two men. Price and this stranger..whoever he was, he was standing awfully close to Price, his arm around his shoulder, a smile on both of their faces, bodies pressed into each other. Soap's heart sinks..they looked..happy together, like 'couple happy'. He rips his eyes away from the pair, not really wanting to stand around and wait for something more upsetting to happen and briskly walks home.

  
Soap did try to swallow down the onslaught of slight heartbreak..but gave up and instead settled on swallowing down a few shots of whiskey at home. He sat on the couch, pathetically holding a glass of alcohol, his beloved Ragdoll cat, Hellraiser, laid up in his lap, contentedly purring, totally unaware of his owner's emotional dilemma.  
  
"Dunno what I expected." He mumbled miserably down to the cat, "I mean I knew he was a gorgeous man, so of course he had to be taken. But I guess I just..hoped..for a moment. I don't know, it's stupid, isn't it?" Hellraiser stands up and bumps his face against Soap's, it does comfort him. He pats the cat's head, then scratches behind his ears.

"Ah, oh well. Still could be his friend, right? I'm a mature adult, I can be his friend. Even though every time I see him I want to throw myself on him and kiss him til no tomorrow. Shite. Bloody, bloody shite." His head fell back against the wall, he winces at the pain from the forceful impact. A deep sigh fell from his lips and he glanced to the table in front of the couch, his journal lay open on the drawing of Price, he frowned. "Infuriatingly good looking man with your wit and cigars."

Cigars. Right. Soap was suddenly aware of a deceptively heavy weight of the cigar Price gave him still in his pocket. He knew it only felt heavy now because of psychological reasons, but still, the weight, even if only in his mind, was unbearable. He pull it out of his pocket and examined it. The small branding on the side read, 'Villa Clara's'. He turned it about it his fingers, getting the feel of it, brought it up to his nose and breathed in the scent. Fuck, they smelled just like Price. The smell brought with it a memory, images of the man leaned against the wall, head forward not facing him, the fog surrounding his face, mouth pulling a half-grin, the cigar between his teeth, the look in his eyes when he talked to him.

"Why the bloody hell not." Soap carefully removed Hellraiser from his lap and walked out the sliding glass door that led to the small side yard. He light the cigar up before he could convince himself otherwise and inhaled deeply. He let the taste hit all of his senses, his eyes closed under the night sky. The smoke that clouded the air cleared his mind, cleansing him, making him forget if only for a few moments.

They're smooth, real smooth. Price has taste.

 

 

 

The next day at work, Soap goes on with life like there's nothing wrong. He decided to not tell Ghost and Roach what he saw the previous night, knowing that Ghost would stage a 'bro-vention', which would be a rather booze-filled evening trying to hook Soap up with every man and woman at the pub. Not much Soap's style. Roach would do everything in his power to prevent it, but still, better to not take the chance.

Soap's tolerance level for annoyance was not high today, it may have had to do with the glasses of whiskey from the night before or the fact that the creaking door to the front of the shop still insisted on driving him insane.

"Can someone please get some WD-40 shite for that door?! It's fucking maddening." Soap snapped at Ghost and Roach, the two men were in the middle of taking orders and looked over at Soap, startled. Soap's outburst was silly and over dramatic, he sighs deeply. "Sorry...I need..I'm taking my break, be back in a few.." They nodded at him and gave each other a look. Roach shrugged and raised his eyebrows before returning to the customer.

Soap retreated to the back of the shop and slumped in the crappy red chair, frustration edging on his nerves. He was letting this whole thing with Price get to him too much. "He's just a guy. It's not the end of the world, MacTavish." He pulled his journal out, and hit it on his knee a few times, fighting the urge to sketch, but he knew a battle against his creativity was a losing one. Gripping his pencil he started the outline, the image imprinted in his brain of Price on the outside of the shop just yesterday, with his prominent nose and surprisingly soft smile, his hands and the way they looked rough, but were capable of a gentle touch. He lets his pencil and memory do the work, and doesn't focus too much on how it feels.

A loud noise from the front of the cafe interrupts his peace. Soap sits for a second, contemplating on whether he should get up or not, but when he sees the clock, break time is over. He shoves the journal back in its place in the pocket of his hoodie and sluggishly makes his way back to the front to see what disaster had taken place now.

Ah, Kingfish himself, of course. Looks like he 'accidentally' knocked over the entire display of napkins. And, as usual, he would have to be the one to clean it up. He wasn't even shocked, really, just another day at the office. Makarov rudely bumps into him when he gets to the mess of napkins all over the floor, and spat words out to him in Russian he couldn't begin to understand, but he's sure he got the meaning well enough. Soap clenches his fists and takes a deep breath, calming himself and his desire to punch the prick in the face. He lets Makarov walk past him, his horrible strong cologne burning his nose and fancy suit jacket scratching his hand uncomfortably. Bending over to pick up the scattered paper, he sees it like a metaphor for his thoughts and heart, scrambled and tossed across the floor. He laughs, void of humor, at the comparison, collecting every stray napkin and lifts himself from his kneeling position to return them to their container.

When he spins around to go back to his proper place at the cash register, he sees him...Price. It's like a shock to his heart, and his eyes widen comically. "Shite.." He said under his breath, attempting to casually walk to his station and not stare at the older man too long. That's when he sees the other man with him. The same one as from last night. The two are talking to each other, not noticing Soap in the least, in their own world together. He clenches his jaw, not wanting petty jealousy to consume him, another tough battle. He reminds himself of what he told his cat, oh fuck that made it sound worse, but he tries to remember that he's a mature man, he can be Price's friend, no big deal.  


Soap threw himself into work, desperately trying to distract himself from staring at Price. A few orders later, Soap has enough time to get a good look at the other man with Price. Price was facing the other direction so he managed to stay discrete, or so he hoped. Ok..the other man was attractive..very. Looked about the same age as Price, maybe a year or two older, he had short, dark red hair that fell perfectly into place, and, from where he was standing, he could hear that the man had a strong Scottish accent, different than his own. He was a good looking bastard. And damn, they seemed rather friendly. Yep, Soap was all out of luck.

"Hey, Soap, can you do me a favor and check on table 13? I'm on break and Ghost is busy." Roach asked, ruffling his hair with his hand.

"Yeah, yeah copy that, mate." Of course that's when Soap notices that table 13 happened to be the one Price and his..whoever he was, were seated at. His eyes made contact with the table and he let out a huff of air, the man with Price wasn't there, must have been in the restroom. It was now or never. He closed the distanced between himself and the table. When he got there, Price looked up from the paperwork spread out in front of him, a smile crept on his lips, it reached his eyes, which practically twinkled in the lighting of the coffee shop. Soap almost moaned, this wasn't fair at all.

"Hey there, Soap. Was wondering if you were working today."

"Hello, you ah, must have got here during my break."

"Have to say, this espresso doesn't taste right since you weren't the one who made it." He tapped the side of the cup with his finger, smile still playing on his lips, Soap swallowed hard, unable to resist returning the smile. Hopefully it didn't come off looking like a grimace, Price didn't seem to think anything of it.

"Hah, Roach probably got the logo all wrong on top." He peered at Price's coffee. "Jesus, what is that? Looks like a bloody four leaf clover with a satanic face. I'll have to continue banning him from making milk symbols for sure."

Price chuckled and shook his head. "Maybe so, as long as he keeps up the baking, definitely a talent, that is. Nice lad, too." Soap nodded in agreement and started cleaning up the plates from the table, Price looked back down to the papers in front of him.

"How's your day been, Price?" Soap glanced at the top of Price's head, another boonie hat, of course. They were quickly becoming his favorite accessory, and they more than suited the man. And he had to admit, the hats looked hot on him, and paired with the endless supply of button up shirts he seemed to own, it gave him an Indiana Jones type vibe. One of Soap's original crushes. It all made sense now, he groans inwardly.

"Good, actually. Never thought I'd be the kind of person grading papers in a coffee shop."

"It's the atmosphere. Guns and military memorabilia..what could be a more relaxing environment, eh?"

"You wouldn't think so..but it is, actually." Price wrote something in a hurried matter, the words somehow still looked elegant and neat, before turning his full attention back to Soap. "How are you, by the way?"

Soap forced an easy smile on his face. "I'm fine, can't complain..."

Price put the pencil down that was in his right hand and looked harder at Soap. "I saw what that bastard did to the napkins, what a bloody muppet."

"Aye, that he is...he's been a pain in my arse for months.." Soap grumbled.

"Who is he?"

"His name's Makarov, well, we call 'em Kingfish 'round here..just a code name. Bloody muppet is also a good one, that's a keeper for sure."

"He do that sort of stuff a lot? Cause trouble for you?" Price looked irked, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

"Ehh, it's usually not too bad. Just sending coffee back loads of times, always muttering something in Russian while glaring at me, bumps into me purposely. He rarely does things like he did today. It's no big deal..actually pretty silly." Soap shrugged it off, though the constant pestering from Makarov has been adding up over time. Price stared at him for a few seconds, reading his reaction, then uncrosses his arms, resting one on the table.

"If he does something like that again, I'll give him a piece of my mind."

Soap laughed, he would love to see that. "Don't worry about it, Price."

"If it wasn't for Mac, I would have today." Price rubbed his beard and took a drink of the coffee. The smile fell from Soap's face.

"Mac, eh? Is he your..partner?"

Price's brows lifted. "What, Macmillan? No, definitely not! What gave you that bloody idea?"

Soap wanted to bury himself in the pile of napkins that was on the floor before.  
"Shite, I didn't mean to assume anything, Price, it's just..last night when I was walking home I saw you two and you looked close..and he's with you today and I-I..wow, I'm really daft."

Price laughs warmly, the smile found its way back to man's mouth. "It's fine, Soap. Mac is an old friend, nothing more. He's married, actually, to a lovely woman. He's come up to visit me in Hereford for a couple days, hadn't seem him in a while. I'm...single." He finished sounding coy and sultry, his trademark smirk still displayed.

"Oh. That's good to hear. I mean, it's not a _good_ thing. I mean, I need to get back to work, you have a nice lunch. Your mate too." The words stumbled out of Soap's mouth, he power walked away from Price's table, not daring to turn his head around and see Price's reaction. He takes the plates to the kitchen in the back and tosses them in the sink. Conveniently, or not so much, Ghost is there too, laughing his ass off.

"Ghost, I just made a bloody numpty out of myself." Soap croaked miserably, slapping a hand on his forehead.

"I know, I saw. The end bits at least. You making a numpty outta yourself? What's new there, mate?"

"Ugh, shut it." Soap put his hands on the wall and hit his head against it once.

"Ya know, you might as well say to him 'I think you're the hottest bloke I've seen in all my life, wanna fuck?'"

Soap turns to stare at Ghost. "Isn't that almost exactly how you and Roach got together?"

"Exactly! See, it works and we're madly in love! Plus, it's painfully obvious that he thinks you have a great arse."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"When you bent over to pick up those napkins that bastard Makarov dropped, his eyes were all over it."

"Are you kidding?" Soap felt his cheeks heat up.

"Nope. See mate, he's crazy for you!"

"Staring at my arse hardly means he likes me." Soap gave him a blank stare.

"With the look that was his face, it does. He so wants you."

"Right. Bum staring, all signs must point to love!" Soap said sardonically. He turns to remove himself from the kitchen.

Now out of Ghost's sight, he let out the huge sigh of happy relief that he's been holding in for minutes. So what if he made a complete moron out of himself? Price was a single man. He was a single man. And apparently stared at his ass too. That made a flash of heat rocket through him. Evidently that pointed to true love? Bloody hell, Ghost could be a idiot. The only question now was..where does it go from here?

He opened his journal to the drawing, and smiled.

 

 

Later that night, back home, his mood dropped, all thanks to his supposed best friend, yet again.

"Wait, wait, wait a minute. You're telling me you spent half the day sulking and being a miserable git because you thought he was dating a man who turns out to be very straight and married? Oh mate, that's more hilarious than the John-John thing." Ghost paced back and forth in front of the couch in the living room, hands clapping together like a bloody seal.

Soap is sat up on the couch, chewing on one of Roach's Tango Tangerine Muffins, trying to drown out the sound of Ghost's barking laughter at his expense. He turns to look at Roach, who's sitting on the arm of the sofa at the opposite end, petting Hellraiser. "Roach? Permission to toss your wanker of boyfriend out the window?"

"I'd rather you not, though he is being a considerable ass at the moment." He scowled disapprovingly at Ghost.

Ghost threw his hands up in defense. "Hey!"

"Simon, it's true. Can you stop? Please?" Roach pouted his lip out, widening his eyes in pleading way to Ghost. This seemed to be just the push Ghost needed to shut up.

"Why with the face, Bug?! Don't do that..it's not right to do that to a man.." He kissed the side of Roach's face. "Fine, I'll try to not be such a wanker. Try." Roach beamed at Ghost, putting his arms around him.

"Thank you, babe." He winked at Ghost and slapped his ass. "Now, Soap, look. You like the guy, right?"

"Well obviously, yes."

"He's single, dude! Go for it, talk to him some more, get to know him better or just ask him out! I saw his reaction when it was me at the register instead of you, he definitely feels the same."

"Just...ask him out? Seriously?"

"Yes!" Ghost and Roach both yelled at the same time, making Hellraiser fly off the couch in shock.

"That, my friends, is easier said than done.."

 

 

 

 

The following weeks pass uneventfully. Price comes in daily, getting his usual, Crew Espresso and .50CAL bagel, usually to go, but sometimes, he stays, those are the days Soap likes best. They have short, friendly conversations, neither bringing up the embarrassing 'incident' that Soap refers to as ' **Operation: Daft Numpty** ', Price only has a short time before he needs to head back to the university, so Soap doesn't have time to talk to him as much as he would like to those days, no more than a couple minutes. Not enough, never enough.

Soap is seated at a table in the front corner of the cafe, taking his Saturday afternoon lunch break. The sleeves of his white henley pushed up to his elbow, he picks at his muffin, not paying much attention to the taste, more focused on his drawing, the sounds of the coffee shop a muted hum. He adds the scratches and details to the grip of gun.

"You draw?" A deep British voice next to him said, Soap was so engrossed in what he what he was doing that it made him jump.

"Shite! Uh..hey, Price. Didn't see you there." He grinned up at the older man, who's clad in a brown leather jacket that hugged his lean, toned figure, now his resemblance to Indiana Jones was uncanny..bloody gorgeous. Soap flushed mildly.

"Is that a M1911?" Price looked a bit closer at his journal, a fond smile on his face.

"Ah, yeah, it is. My favorite pistol." Soap said proudly.

"Huh, seems your a man after my own heart too. That's also my favorite."

"It is a special gun."

"Do you mind if I..?" Price points to the journal.

Soap was a little nervous that he'd flip through the pages and see his drawings of Price, but still said, "Of course not, it's still a little rough around the edges though.." Price, with journal in hand, sits in the chair next to him. Soap rubs at the back of his neck anxiously, studying the other man's reaction.

Price's eyes were fixed on the drawing, admiring it, his fingers hovered over the outline of the gun, tracing the shape. "You call this rough around the edges? This is beautiful work, Soap, looks exactly like the real thing. I own a M1911, actually. Rather old piece, scarred up and aged like this one. Belonged to my dad, and his dad before him." Price gently put down his drawing and pushed it back to Soap.

"Thank you.." Soap said softly, twiddling his fingers about, he was trying to be better about taking compliments, as promised. "It's been my dream to own one of those beauts for the longest time, especially a vintage one. You must have quite a lovely piece of history, probably a lot of stories behind the barrel of that gun."

"There certainly are, I reckon I didn't even hear every one."

"How'd the gun get in your family?"

"Military family, goes way back. I'm the first Price in a long time to not enlist. Doesn't mean I could escape the allure of the military. I teach Military History at the university."

Another mystery solved. "That's cool,..Professor Price, eh? I'm a bit of a history buff myself. Only, the most I do is watch the Military Channel when I'm home..I'm sure you could teach me more than that channel could." Soap smiled at Price with unguarded affection. "I would love to see that gun of yours sometime though, bet it's gorgeous."

"It's my prized possession, only thing my dad had left behind to leave to me. He knew how much I was in awe of the bloody thing, how I'd stare at it for the longest time. Guess we all have something that we cherish like that."

"Aye. You're looking at my prized possession." Soap said, picking up his journal.

"Mean a lot to you?" A smile tugged on the edges of Price's lips when he asked.

"I've had it for years..since I moved here. First thing I bought in Hereford, believe it or not. This journal. A lot of memories in here..." Soap trailed off, running his fingers over the black cover, he contemplates for a moment, then opens it to a page near the front and pushes it over to Price. "This is from the first place I visited in Hereford after I bought it. I walked to Queenswood Park, there was this bench that overlooked Bodenham Lake. The sunset was just hitting the water...beautiful view." Soap murmured, watching Price look over the picture.

"Huh, I know this spot, it is beautiful. When the weather's not bad and I have free time, I walk through there myself.." Price said, the corners of his lips turned up subtly, a captivating look of remembrance in his eyes, but also a touch of regret. Did he not have much free time to enjoy things?

Price lingers on the drawing for a few more seconds before returning it to Soap.  
"You know, Price...you're the first and only person I've shown my drawings to. Ever." Soap admitted, looking Price right in the eyes and liking what he finds reflecting back at him, the soft smile on his face grows.

"I'm honored, then. Must not have been easy to share them with me, but I'm glad you did. You're more talented than I already knew." Price told him, head tilted to the side. Soap nods and lowers his gaze, chewing on his smiling lip. He may have handled it well the first time, but another compliment from the other man is hard to take without wanting to brush it off with self-deprecating humor. But he resists. Price moves his hands to the top of the table, the back of his hands are close to the tips of Soap's fingers. "I've picked up on your accent, where're you from?" Price asked.

"Scotland, moved up here when I was 21. Needed to get away, you know? New beginnings."

"That it? A fresh start?"

"I-well, I had a bad break up. We both wanted different things, she wanted to stay there and settle down, but me, I wanted to leave home for years, ever since my parents died. Just didn't feel like home anymore after they were gone."

"Yeah, I understand that." Price said quietly, Soap noticed his hands edge towards his own, seemingly unintentionally, his fingers twitch with the want to cover his hand over Price's.

"Shite, I'm sorry, didn't mean to bore you with all this personal stuff.." Soap murmured, swallowing hard.

"No it's fine, I'm interested." Price gives him a small, earnest smile.

He returns the smile. "Good thing I'm on a lunch break." Soap, out of a nervous habit, started toying with the dog tag around his neck with his other hand that's not laying next just out of reach of Price's, but close enough to feel the heat of it. He sees the older man's eyes flick down to the dog tag, eyeing it curiously. "It's a bit slow right now, you want me to fetch us some coffee, and then we can continue this? If you're not busy, of course." There, Soap said it, this was close enough to a date, right?

"Sure, sounds good." Price replied, giving him a nod.

"Roger that, be right back."

Soap walks to coffee station and begins mixing up their drinks, Roach pops up next to him.

"Alright, Soap. Finally you two are getting some one-on-one time."

"Yeah, on my lunch break." Soap sighs. "Only got 11 more minutes."

"Then ask him out on a real date!"

"I...don't know, Roach." Soap glances over his shoulder to look at Price, who's doing something on his phone. "I'm trying to see where he wants this to go, I don't want to push anything."

"You are hopeless, dude. Hopeless. But still, good luck." Roach gives him a thumbs up and leaves his side.

Soap resumes making the coffee, feeling a little nervous still, but not in a bad way. He thought of the way their hands almost touched, and the way it felt so right to be with him, talking about anything. And sharing his drawings? That was a big thing for Soap, he honestly never shared his art with anyone before, but he wanted to with Price, he wanted him to see them and know that part of himself. Fuck, he had to admit that he was falling for Price. It was a...new feeling. A scary, but not an unwelcome one.

He picks up the cups and returns to the table, placing Price's in front of him. "It's on me, by the way. No need for a tip, your company is more than enough." He smiles at Price, then realizes he left his journal at the table, he dreaded for a moment that Price looked through it, but dropped the thought, knowing Price wouldn't do that. He sits in his chair and tears off a piece of his muffin and tosses it in his mouth, chewing slowly.

"Charming bastard.." Price said quietly, smirking right back at Soap, and pulling the coffee cup closer to him. "You had a girlfriend back in Scotland?" Price questioned, feeling around the rim of his coffee cup.

Soap swallowed. "Mm, yeah, we were together a couple years, 'bout 3."

"Sounds serious."

"Looking back nowadays, it wasn't, at least not for me. I cared about her, sure, but I wasn't in love with her. Guess that's another reason I left, wasn't fair to her."

"I understand..dated anyone long term since?"

"Like a real relationship? Honestly, no. I tried dating a few girls and guys here and there, but I fear I'm too much of a hopeless romantic. Spending all this time waiting for Mr or Ms right to appear right in front of my eyes like some goddamn fairy tale." Soap joked, well not completely, and decideded to just come out and ask, "What about you?"

Price is quiet for a couple seconds, appearing deep in thought, before taking a breath and replying. "Guess you could say the same for me..I've never found the right person for me. Maybe I've been too focused on work? No one really caught my eye in a long time..before." His voice was soft with affection.

"Before..?" Soap implored with a controlled smile.

"Yeah, before.." Price doesn't explain further, and opts to taking a drink of his coffee, averting his stare away from Soap's, frustrating the younger man. "Was it always your dream to be a barista in a coffee shop?" Price changed the subject, taking another sip of the coffee. It doesn't go unnoticed by Soap that some sticks to his upper lip, he zones out on his mouth when the older man licks it away, then coughs to regain his focus.

"Work in a coffee shop? God, no. Growing up, I always wanted to join the military. Dunno what kept me from it.. Don't get me wrong though, I'm happy with my choice of career now."

"Military, eh? Sergeant Soap..Captain MacTavish?" Price joked, Soap grinned.

"Yep, hard to imagine me in there, eh? What, with the mohawk and all."

"Not hard to picture it, your body seems well fit enough. Got a good, strong personality too. I think you'd be a great solider." Soap was a little taken aback by the man's words. Had he been..checking him out? Besides the supposed ass staring. Of course it could all be friendly compliments.

"Hah, thanks. I do try to keep in shape." He shrugged like the admiration wasn't a big deal, his heart rate said otherwise.

"It shows.." Price said quietly, his eyes staring all over Soap with appreciative, fixed attention. "Reminds me, I've been wondering for a while, but never got around to asking..what's the deal with theme here? Military and coffee?" Price looks away from Soap to glance around the walls of the cafe, art work of all types of guns, tanks, and helicopters lining the walls, even some realistic looking replicas of rifles.

"I know, it's pretty weird. But that's just us, I suppose. This whole place started out as a joke, but turned very serious. Do you..not like it?"

"No, quite the opposite, actually. It's what drew me to this place. Also, RSSAS and Shine, clever name. That your favorite sniper rifle?"

"Yep, hard to narrow down it down though, so many great ones."

"Hmm..I'd have to go with a Barrett .50CAL myself, not just for the bagels, mind you."

"Hah, that was our second choice. It wouldn't fit as nicely though, believe me we considered it..shortly. Settled on naming the bagels that instead."

"RSASS was the right way to go, no doubt." Price chuckles, Soap gets lost in the sound.

A silence falls over them, Soap takes a big drink of his coffee before locking eyes with Price again. They hold the stare for a few seconds, then the older man shifts his attention back to the circular dog tag that hung on Soap's neck, the one he was fiddling with earlier. Reflexively, Soap reaches for it.

"Where'd you get the dog tag?"

"Gift..from my dad, for my 16th birthday, it's titanium. Never take it off." Soap doesn't know when it happened, but they were sitting awfully close now, closer than before. The backs of their hands touched, a pleasant sensation spread from that point through his whole body.

"The name Soap not on there then?"

"Hah, no..dad probably would've been lost for words 'bout that name."

Price reaches for the circular dog tag with the hand not touching Soap's, Soap leans in closer to him, consenting to the silent request. Price's fingers trace gingerly over the name etched in the metal, 'John MacTavish', Soap's breathing stilled while his heart rate simultaneously started beating erratically once again. The man holds the metal in the palm of his hand, his eyes slowly raise back up, meeting Soap's gaze. Soap waits for the sweet moment, the one where Price pulls him by the dog tags and into a deep kiss. Then, he remembers...he's at work. Shite. The time on the clock and the redundant sounds of chiming bells from the door told him that the moment is lost.

"Fuck...My lunch break is over, technically it ended 3 minutes ago." Soap told him with a sigh. Price drops the dog tag, it hits his chest like a wrecking ball.

"Sorry for keeping you." The older man said in a rasping tone, straightening up in his chair, making the move to get up along with Soap.

"I'm not. That was the best lunch break I've had in ages."

"Thanks for the coffee, Soap..and the conversation."

"Of course, it was my pleasure." Soap does a playful bow for him, and goes to pick up his journal, but it falls from his hands and opens to his first drawing of Price. He's mortified, and quickly bends down to pick it up before Price can get a good look at it, but the older man picks it up first. He doesn't say anything though, his eyes skim over the page for a second, before he hands it over to Soap, his expression unreadable. Oh not that again. Soap laughed nervously, waiting for Price to question him about the drawing.

"We should..do this again sometime." Price said in in a flirtatious way, eyes searching across the younger man's face. Soap looks at him, blown away that the man still asked him that, even after seeing the drawing.

"Yeah...I'd like that, Price."

"I'll see you soon." Price tipped his hat at Soap.

"You know where to find me." Soap gives him a longing smile, and watches the man turn on his heal and exit the shop, Price looks back this time, giving a small wave. His offer hangs in the atmosphere of the coffee shop, the air sweetened by his words. 'We should do this again'. Fuck, he was in deep now.

And he wouldn't want it any other way.

 

 

 

 

 

"Well mate, it's official, you're goddamn glowing, something I thought I'd never see." Ghost commented with a smug smile.

"Nothing can get me down Ghost, not even your violating commentary on my love life..even Kingfish and his general muppet-ness failed." Soap gives change to the customer in front of him and wishes them a good day.

"Oooh, you might reconsider that..he's heading over here again." Ghost informed him, slinking away from Soap with a cringe on his face.

Soap braced himself mentally, taking deep, steady breaths as Makarov storms over to him. This wasn't going to end well.

"Hey! I asked for a refill 10 minutes ago..and yet my cup is still empty." Makarov's grating voice snapped at him.

"I told you I needed to brew some more, it's almost done." Soap kept his tone even.

"Really? Because I think you're too busy talking to actually do your goddamn job." His voice is only getting louder.

Soap clenched his teeth and took another breath. "I'll check if it's done..." He turns away from the other man's glowering stare and walks to the coffee machine, and sees that the pot is full. He picks it up by the handle and returns to the counter, filling Makarov's coffee cup.

"There. Better?" Soap tried to keep his snark in check, to no avail.

"You know what? I changed my mind, I don't want it any more." Makarov seethed at him and turned dramatically to exit, knocking over his full cup in the process. The hot liquid spills over the whole counter and down onto his journal, thoroughly soaking it.

"Shite! What the fuck!" Soap cried out, struggling to keep himself from hopping the counter and shoving Makarov on his ass.

"Oops. Sorry." Makarov spat at him, void of all sincerity, before leaving the shop.

Soap picks up the pathetically wet journal and opens it..years of his life..now a mess of smudges, the details of the drawings, lost. Coffee successfully melted the fine lines. His prized possession. Ruined.

Roach rushed over to him. "Fuck...dude, I'm sorry..." Roach goes to put his hand on Soap's shoulder, but he dodges it, holding his drenched journal tightly.

"M'fine, Roach. Really. It's...just a journal."

"Soap, I know how much that it meant to you, you brought it everywhere."

Soap pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers and sighs, leaving to the back room, holding the mess of a journal that held years of his life. Soap grabs a hand towel off of the counter and attempts to dry it to the best of his abilities, without smudging any of the writing and drawings more than they were. Fucking Makarov. The man has been a prick to him from the moment he stepped in the cafe and Soap was one second away from tossing him out the door on his ass. But he's not worth it. He's a pathetic asshole, one that relishes in the fact that he can ruin Soap's day. And he did.

Soap opens the journal carefully to the page with the drawing of Price leaned against the cafe wall, then to the one he first drew of him, brow arched and arms crossed, they were not too destroyed. But others close to the front, like the one from months ago of Ghost and Roach laughing, covered in paint while rebuilding the cafe and the one of his mum and dad holding hands on the porch of his childhood home, were now wrecked. He stared hard down at his journal and is filled with anger all over again, his fists clenched, but he pushes it out of his head, keeping his cool, and leaves it there on the counter. Leaves it behind. He sits in the red chair for a couple minutes, wallowing in self-pity, picking at the frayed edges of the old red chair, mourning the loss of a friend, a confidant, before sucking it up and standing up.

He returns to his post, towel in hand, but he sees Roach finished cleaning up the mess, wiping the last remnants of coffee.

"Mate, you didn't have to clean that up, I could've taken care of it.." Soap mumbled guiltily.

"Don't worry about, man." Roach told him lightly with a reassuring smile, tossing the wet hand towel inside the cleaning bin next to Soap, he crosses his arms. "Price came over..he asked if you were ok."

"He did..? I didn't even know he was here." Soap sighs, dropping his own towel into the bin.

"He looked pissed about what Makarov did, thought he was gonna take that Desert Eagle blank gun off the wall and bash him over the head with it."

"Kinda want to do that bit myself, to be honest. Fucking arsehole." Soap muttered under his breath. "Bummed I missed Price though.." Talking to Price is just the thing that could help take his mind off the whole bullshit day.

"I have a hunch that the feeling is mutual." Roach pats his shoulder and walks away.

 

 

 

 

 

The previous day was a total loss, his journal was gone and he missed the chance to see Price. The space in his jacket where his journal used to reside was now an empty space, it was so weird not to feel it there.

Soap's doing his rounds, checking on customers, cleaning up tables, anything to keep his mind from lingering too long on Price and his warm smile and comforting voice. He stacks up plates from a table near the resister and flings a towel over his shoulder. He turns around and he sees Price walking towards him, his heart does its usual flip-flopping.

"Soap, hey." Price greeted him with the warm smile he was just thinking of.

"Price...it's good to see you." Something about being around Price made him feel instantly at ease and calmed, like all he wants to do is sit with him and tell him everything he's ever felt or...fall into his arms.

"You too, how are you holding up?" Price asked him with a concerned look, Soap brings the plates in his hand over to the counter and Price follows.

"Better now." Soap told him, there's no trace of playfulness in his voice, he meant it. Price swallows, and looks down at the counter.

"About your journal..." Price started softly, Soap's brows knit together, feeling the sadness hit him again, he rests his elbows on the counter, leaning into Price.

"Sounds stupid but..that journal was the only thing I had when I first moved here, it was my only friend for a while until I met Ghost. Every little thought and dream and memory was in the those pages. Every face, every object. I wrote things in there I never told anyone. Ah, it does sound stupid." He goes to shove off the counter, but Price places a hand on top of his, instantly he feels the soothing touch send those familiar sparks through him.

"It doesn't sound stupid at all." Price reassured him, his hand squeezes Soap's before he hesitantly removes it. "Was it...ruined?"

"Some pages were salvageable..barely. But a lot of my drawings are permanently messed up."

Price looks as if he's contemplating something for a second in his mind, and straightens his stance, before reaching into his grey coat and pulling out something.

"Here, I got this for you." Price hands Soap the object. Soap moves up from his hunched over position and takes it from him, examining it curiously, his heart hammers harder.

He runs his hand over the smooth brown cover and looks up at Price with wonderment. "A new journal?"

Price gently nods at him. "After what that bastard did to yours yesterday, I went out and got you this. I know how much the other one meant to you and this couldn't even begin to replace it but.." He puts a hand on the top of his hat, rubbing his hand on it, looking nervous, the first time Soap had ever seen him that way.

"Shite..this is really nice.. Too nice. You didn't have to get me this, Price." Soap wanted to say more, make him feel as good as Price made him feel, but he becomes speechless, taken aback at the man's kindness.

"I know, but I wanted to. You need to keep up that drawing, you're quite good at it, especially with faces." Price trails off at the end..a smirk edging on his lips.

Soap's mouth gaped open, even as Price winked at him and walked away. Soap's stare follows his retreating form, Price turns back around, a meaningful smile on his face. "Happy Birthday, Soap."

There was no doubt now, Price saw the drawings he made of him. Fuck, that is..troubling. He opens the new journal, the bind of it makes a subtle cracking sound, the smell of new paper and a hint of those Villa Clara's fill his nose. His eyes catch the sight of something written in elegant, scribbled letters on the inside cover and he smiled. _'Make some new memories. -P'_

 

Soap sits at the kitchen table at home, a pint of lager in front of him, new journal at his side, it hasn't left his side since Price gave it to him. Earlier, it was tucked in the same place his old one once was. It filled the space with a different sort of weight. One that reminded him of the scent of leather and tobacco on clean skin and a soothing hand on his own. Ghost and Roach were giving Soap their own version of a birthday party, a tame version, by orders from Soap. He recapped them on the days events..and Price's gift.

"He got you a new journal for your birthday? Oh god..even I'm swooning, this man is amazing." Ghost slurred, taking another shot of whiskey as he draped his left arm around Roach's waist.

"That was so fucking incredibly sweet of him..pretty romantic, huh?" Roach said with some difficultly, he is already well over halfway-plastered, sloppily falling into Ghost's arm, tossing another large shot down his throat.

"I'm serious, Soap. Bloody fuck that man is smooth." Ghost grimaces at the taste of whiskey burning his throat.

"Can't believe he remembered my birthday. I mentioned it once 'bout three weeks ago." Soap said from the table, tapping lightly on the cover of the journal.

"It's cause he's crazy about you, mate. See, I told you! I told you." Ghost hollered and pointed his finger at Soap dramatically, stumbling with Roach's arms around him. Soap chuckled and took a drink of his beer.

"And Simon said you didn't believe the ass watching shit. But dude I'm telling you, that's where it allllways started. Or maybe for you two it was the eye fucking when you took his first order." Roach's hands move about in the air, the motions cause him to lose his balance and he nearly falls over with a bottle of beer in hand.

"Oi, Bug..be careful, you're gonna spill that shitty American beer and dirty up my beautiful British floors." Ghost pulls Roach into his arms, steadying him.

"I'll put my dirty American body all over your beautiful British self right here." Roach starts kissing on Ghost's neck and Soap's eyes widen in horror.

"Ya know..ah..you guys can head off to your room if you want, I think we properly celebrated enough." Soap practically begged them to leave, to spare his eyesight and mental well being.

"Hmm, good idea, mate." Ghost keeps his hold around Roach, putting his glass of whiskey on the kitchen counter and taking the bottle from Roach's hand, doing the same, the two of them walk..or..stumble out of the kitchen, not before they call out to Soap, "Happy Birthday, you old man!"

Soap laughed and rolls his eyes, they're gonna be feeling all that alcohol tomorrow, no question. Soap takes another drink from his lager and runs a hand smoothly over the cover of the journal, wishing there was one certain person here with him on his birthday. He opens it up again, his eyes settled on the indented inscription on the inside, fingers trace over the words, much like Price's moved over the name on his dog tag. New memories. Yeah, that sounded nice. Soap had a feeling, a hope, that Price was going to be a focal point of his new memories.

 

 

  


It's near closing time at RSASS and Shine on Sunday night. Ghost and Roach had been particularly useless today. It was his birthday yesterday, yet they were the ones with the killer hangover. Even his secret family recipe cure did no good, all the hot sauce in the world couldn't help those two. Soap, on the other hand, was feeling light and downright cheerful since last night. Mainly because of Price. Just thinking of him made his insides all twisted with a feelings he couldn't put words to. But it was a good feeling, he never wanted it to go away.

It was too muggy in the coffee shop the whole day, Soap ended up stripping down to just his white t-shirt and, as always, camo pants. Today, they were grey. A couple years ago, Ghost forced Soap to buy a pair of regular jeans, but they are still hung up in his closet, unworn. His friend mocked him constantly about his wardrobe, "What the sodding balls, mate. Do you own anything besides camo pants, henleys, and t-shirts?" Truthfully, he didn't. Save for a few hoodies with the coffee shop's logo, a big grey coat, and his favorite black leather jacket. It made him feel cooler than he's sure he really was.

Soap skims over the shop, and sees several tables were still dirty with cups and plates. "Yeah, don't rush to clean up your tables or anything, lads." Soap said to Ghost and Roach who are all but laying on the counters, he rolls his eyes at his friends' sluggish state. They assigned tables to each other daily that they'd be responsible for, and so far, they hadn't kept it up so efficiently. "Don't worry, don't worry..I'll get 'em."

Ghost and Roach mumble something in 'hungover language' and go back to taking orders from customers getting things to go before it's too late. Soap sighs, exasperated, he's sure they're getting the coffee all wrong, and he doesn't think it's a good idea for anyone to be eating Roach's cookies, bagels or muffins today. Bless him though, he did try his best to cook them properly, even if he did almost burn the place down. Now that he thinks of it, they probably should have stayed closed today. Too late now, the damage is already done.

Soap goes around, stacking up all the plates and cups and takes them in the back to the kitchen. He fills up the sink with hot soapy water and started to wash a couple of them. He does the dreaded choir for a few minutes, then realizes that leaving Ghost and Roach out there, alone and knackered out of their minds, probably isn't the wisest thing to do. He dries his hands and removes his camo apron, tossing it on the side of the sink, and returns to the front.

Sure enough, Ghost is laying his head down on the counter and Roach is miserably laying on his back. He scoffs and puts his hands on his hips, that's when he sees Price sitting in the front corner, at the same table they talked at a few days ago, with a cup of coffee next to him. He's wearing that black beanie again and a long sleeved blue shirt, one that Soap is sure brings out his eyes perfectly. The man smiles at Soap in greeting as he walks over to him.

"Ah, seems I once again missed the opportunity to serve my favorite customer. You're here later than usual. It's almost closing time. 'Bout 10 minutes, actually."

"Yeah, well...had a busy day." Price said, shrugging casually.

"Hot date?" Soap half joked, half asked seriously. Price laughs, and looks Soap up and down in a subtle-but-suggestive way. Soap swallows hard, he wonders if Price noticed him doing the same before he walked over.

"Hot date, right, with stacks of papers that needed to be graded and lesson plans that had to be made." Price smirked at him, propping his chin his hand.

"Could've fooled me, you look..pretty damn handsome right now. Thought for sure you were looking to impress someone."

"Maybe I am. And..is it in the employees manual for RSASS And Shine to make their customers blush?"

"Hah! Not sure if you're even capable of blushing, Price." Soap said, looking over Price's face and finding no trace of a flush..but there is..a look in his eyes.

"If it was possible then it certainly would be there now, I assure you."

"I meant it, though. You're looking good..John." Soap gives Price his own smirk at the name drop.

"Thanks, John. You look nice yourself, don't think I've ever seen you in a t-shirt." Their smirked are matching now.

"That's because it's frigid as hell here 90% of the time. Also, I try not to show off my biceps too much, can be a bit distracting for all the lads, lasses, and non-binary folks that come through here." Soap playfully flexes his arms.

"I can see why." Price said, barely above a whisper. But Soap catches it, and fuck, now he's the one visibly blushing.

Ghost appears from the back, looking a light shade of green, an even darker shade of green Roach leaning on him. "Oi, Soap. Me and Roach are out of here. I think he puked around 10 times in the bathroom, and before you say anything, we cleaned up. We're gonna head home..and..not leave bed for say..about the next 48 hours."

"Hah, alright mate, you two get home safe, eh? Try not to vomit on any innocent bystanders?"

"Yes, sir, Captain MacTavish sir. Price, good to see you." Ghost mock-salutes Soap and gives a friendly, albeit wobbly nod to Price who answers with a small smile. Ghost puts Roach's arm around his shoulder and helps carry him out of the door, he turns his head back and looks from the condiment station to Soap a few times, giving him a scolding look for something he didn't even do. Soap glares at him as they leave and Price sits there looking lost.

"Bloody hell..I'm never letting them drink ever again." Soap shook his head and let out a breath of air. He sits down next to Price, resting his arms on the table, only a little on purpose to be closer the other man's hands.

"Have a little too much fun celebrating last night?"

Soap sighs, wrinkling his nose. "Pretty sure they did all of that kind of celebrating for me. I just stayed up, listening to music to drown out whatever they were doing, milking one beer the whole night."

"I'm shocked, no crazy outing?"

"Ah, no. I insisted we stay at the house, they insisted on the large quantities of alcohol. In fact, my 'cake' was a bottle of whiskey with a pink, blue, and purple candle taped to the top. Appears I'm getting boring with my old age." Soap runs a hand over the scruff on his chin.

"Hm, said the man still under 30. Wait til you hit 40, that's when you'll feel really old and boring."

"If you're implying that you're uninteresting, Price, then that's the furthest thing from the truth. But, honestly, I already feel 40..don't know, maybe it's Ghost and Roach's young and wildness. Never felt like I matched up with people my own age."

"But they're your best friends." Price may have intended it to come out as a question, but it sounded more like stating a fact.

"That they are, more than friends really, they're like the brothers I never thought I wanted before. Best, most insufferable friends a guy could ask for." He told Price fondly, the other man smiled, Soap rubs his left eye, feeling oddly relaxed and lazy in the company of Price.

"If it's not too intrusive of me to ask..how'd you get that scar?" Price gestures to his own left eye.

"Brutal fight, I was the only one that walked out alive."

"Soap..."

"Hah, ok fine, this is a bit embarrassing, it's nothing legendary or cool. See, I've got this cat, had him for years, name's Hellraiser, used to live up to the name. Love the little guy, but let's say I should have never came between him and his tuna one day."

"Are you serious? Your cat?" Price threw his head back and laughed, hard. Soap can't help but smile and join in with the infectious sound, until his eyes noticed the expanse of the man's neck, totally exposed to him now. He swallows down the sudden uprising of lust at the sight, and rubs the back of his own neck.

"Aye, sadly I am. Bet you're disappointed now, eh? I don't seem so badass and mysterious anymore. Lost all my appeal."

"Hardly. It is bloody adorable though."

"What, my cat mauling and permanently disfiguring me?" Soap raises his scarred eyebrow.

"No..you're a cat person? No dogs for you?"

"Yes, oh yes, definitely a cat person. Dogs? I hate dogs. Ok, hate is a strong word..more like, severely dislike. There."

"Can't say I'm too big of a fan myself. In grade school, when I was walking home, there was this bloody wild dog that always chased after me. Not my fondest memory."

"Ack, dogs. This whole thing is a problem at me and Ghost and Roach's place. See, they love dogs and have being dying to get one for months. I'll probably have to move out with Hellraiser so they can get their wish. Don't think either of us could handle living with a bloody dog."

"But a malevolent cat? No, that's fine." Price retorted lightly with a smirk.

"Hey, that was one time, proud to say Hellraiser has been scar making-free for the past couple years. No new marks to speak of." Soap opens his new journal to a page, sliding it over to Price. "This is Hellraiser himself, ironically, quite an angel when he's sleepy."

Price has a grin on his face while he looks at the drawing of the white cat with light grey marks scattered throughout his long fur, laying on his back, paws flopped down on his chest. "He's pretty cute." He hands over the journal to Soap again.

"Got any pets, Price?"

"Nope, too busy."

"You seem to be busy for a lot of things..pets, to come to a coffee shop at a more..open hour." He said humorously, then adds seriously, "for love."

Price sighs deeply. "Know how you have your bad trait with taking compliments? Guess mine is being too..unavailable for things..people." Price said quietly, eyes now making contact with his untouched coffee. Soap leans his head down trying to meet his gaze.

"Why is that?" Soap asked, voice just as soft.

"Not sure, maybe it's..easier that way? To not allow yourself to get too close to anyone, save yourself from the inevitable bad end?" He still doesn't look at Soap, more interested in the deformed swirls of the coffee shop logo atop the espresso.

"Sure, it's easier, but doesn't it get...lonely?"

"Better to be lonely than heartbroken, I suppose."

"Wow, that's pretty pessimistic." Soap said with a frown, he can sense that Price truly means the words..and is speaking from experience?

Price laughs a little, a low sound. "It is. Mac is always telling me I need to go out and meet someone already, so I don't become a miserable, old grouch with only a few close friends and a pile of history books to keep me company."

Soap eyes him closely, "Is your heart unavailable, Price?"

"Never really saw much importance for things like love before..I've been trying to work on that. Lately, I think I've seen how great it could be." Soap inhaled sharply when Price looked up to meet his stare, expression soft, but eyes bright.

"I think I know exactly what you mean."

The corner of Price's mouth tugs up in a half-smile, Soap fidgets in his chair at this point, there's something hanging in the air between them, tons of unsaid words clogging the empty shop. They sit like that for a few moments, trying to read each other's mind, waiting for one to break and say it all. But neither do.

"You really planning to move out?" Price asked finally, fingers running through his beard, Soap tries not to stare at the soft hair, and not noticed how the light catches the stray pieces of grey spread throughout it.

"Aye, been planning to for the past couple months. Ghost and Roach, well, they'e pretty damn serious. Wouldn't be surprised if they're married by next year, just feels like it's time for me to leave."

"So...you'd be out on your own."

"Yeah, guess so. I wouldn't live to far off from where I am now, mind you. Have to stay close to the shop and make sure I can keep those numptys under control. I do feel sort of responsible for them."

"Have you told them this, yet?"

"Ah, no. I need to think of the right way to bring it up. Number one requirement for my new place, a good front door." Soap glares at the shop's entrance, the blasted thing a menace.

"I've noticed the door..." Price nods in the direction of it.

Soap scoffed out a laugh. "Not surprised, I'm sure people all across England could hear that bloody fucking thing. Bet we're famous for it."

"Think I could check it out? I might be able to help."

"Price, if you can actually fix the sodding thing you're getting free coffee, bagels, whatever you want for life." Soap told him desperately, a pleading look in his eyes.

They both stand up and walk towards the front door. Soap shoves his hands in the pockets of his pants while Price takes a close look, opening the door and closing it a couple times and reaching up to feel around the top part, his shirt lifts up a little in the back above his ass, Soap swallows hard, trying to avoid getting caught staring at it. But he found it hard to not stare, the man had an incredible body. Price turns around to face Soap, the younger man instantly changes the trajectory of his eyes to the door, palms sweaty in his pockets. Thankfully, Price is distracted by problem at hand.

"I see the problem..it's not properly aligned. The wood from the door is rubbing against the frame, that's what's causing the insufferable noise. Lubricating it with WD-40 can only do so much, you need to get rid of the friction." Price's explanation should not have sounded as sexual as it did to Soap's ears. Fuck, he needed to get laid. Badly.

Soap pulls a hand out of his pocket and runs it through his mohawk and asked, "Is that...bad?" He shifted his weight so he's leaning to the side, scuffing his booted foot into the tile floor, feeling a little awkward considering his lack of knowledge pertaining to repairs.

Price pushed the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows and crossed his arms. "No, not bad, it is certainly annoying though. I could fix it easily enough. But I need to remove the hinges, I got a little trick. Have any tools here?"

 

Seeing Price with tools in hand, sweat on his brow, clad in that tight shirt that fit perfectly around his torso, with the veins in his arms sticking out in a very appealing matter was the sexiest thing Soap had seen in all his 29 years of life. He had to swallow down the audible moans that threatened to escape his lips.

Price removed the door with no hassle with a powerdrill and set it off to the side. Then, he took a tube of some silicone stuff that Ghost and Roach bought months ago for a few faulty kitchen repairs and applied it to the back of some spare washers that were laying in the tool box.

"What're doing there?" Soap asked, leaned up on the wall next to Price, watching him work intently.

"Gonna stick these under the hinges, it will add enough space between the door and the frame so that the noise will cease to drive you mad." He gives Soap a grin and places the washers in place and picks the powerdrill back up. "Soap, can you pass me the hinges?"

Soap nods and picks them up from the table off to the side and walks them over to Price, giving them to the man.

"Need any help?" Soap offered with twist of his lips, he felt a little useless just standing off to the side watching him do all the work, actually, checking him out.

"Hm..sure, hold these in place while I drill in."

Soap was beginning to wonder if Price was saying all this on purpose.

They started from the bottom up, crouching down next to each other, putting the hinges back on, Soap kept a firm hold on them as the screws went through. He could feel Price's hot exhales hit on the side of his cheek, he knew if he turned his face, he could easily press his lips to the other man's, he fought the urge, pushing the hinge harder into the frame, muscles in his forearm straining.

They finished replacing all the hinges and Price picked the door up and lined it up, Soap helped hold the door while the other man drilled the screws back in the door, Soap most certainly doesn't bite his lips watching Price's fingers hold the screws in place.

"Have you always been this..handy?" Soap played up the last word, the smirk flashed back on his lips, Price noticed, of course, and winked at him.

"Not always..I was self-taught. It comes from years of living in shacks while working my way through college. Either deal with the infernal dripping in the sink or fix it. I chose to fix it. Did almost overflow my place the first time..but eventually, I got it right."

"Ah, a young Price and an indoor pool. Now that's a good one." Soap's mind was filled with images of college aged Price, drenched from water in a flooded room, the thought was both hilarious and arousing.

"Not my best work, I assure you."

"You seem more than capable now."

"Like I said, experience." Price said simply, drilling in the last screw to the door. "Alright, you can let go." Soap does, Price places the powerdrill on the table and fiddles with the door a little more. Soap moves next to the other man, eliminating the space the door caused between them and crosses his arms, waiting.

"Now, let's give her a go." Price pushes the door closed and then opens it, he does it two more times and turns to Soap, giving him a pleased look, the younger man stands there in awe, blown away at the silence.

"Beautiful." Price said once in his smoky voice, sending a shiver down Soap's spine. He lets go of the door and stands next to Soap, crossing his arms too.

"Bloody hell..you're a goddamn miracle worker." Soap still zones out on the now quiet door.

"All I did was move the door a touch. No big deal."

"You have no idea how much that fucking thing has been driving me over the edge. I was this close to getting a M4A1 and filling it with real bullet holes, not artificial ones."

Price laughed lightly, warmth all over his face. "I'm glad to help, make your life a little easier, brighter. Not so noisy."

"You already made my life brighter, Price. Long before the door." He locks eyes with Price, the other man's heated stare, stirring the inside of his stomach. "First the journal..now this.. Don't know how to thank you..but...thank you." He finished lamely. If there was ever a better opportunity for a kiss... Soap had every scene from every porn he's ever saw run through his head. The helpful handy-man, the helpless home owner, payment in sex against the wall. Soap shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"You don't owe me anything, Soap."

"Think I'll have to keep you, Price. Be my special on-call repair man, I could hire you..no shortage of problems around here."

"It's a deal, no need to pay me though. Your company is more than enough."

Ah, fuck. There he goes making Soap's heart beat thud harder in his chest.  
"It's late..we probably should head out and go home." Soap said, glancing to the side at the clock.

"Yeah, yeah you're right."

"Care to..walk with me?"

"I'd love to walk you home, Soap." Price grinned at him and made the move to get his coat.

"First things first, I'll put all this shite up." Soap grabbed the tool box and took it to the back, placing on a shelf. He grabs the keys to the shop, his black leather jacket with his new journal tucked inside the inner pocket, and long dark blue scarf off the hook next to the red chair. He walks briskly out to the front, part of him worried that Price will be gone. He's not, the man is still standing by the door, holding his own coat.   
  
While he walks to Price, he slips his arms through the sleeves of his jacket, tugging it on, and wraps the scarf around his neck, it's almost a perfect match to the color of Price's shirt.

Price eyes him now clad in his leather jacket, his stare making Soap feel hot all over again. He would have been perfectly fine with the older man grabbing him by the collar of his jacket and pinning him to the wall with a kiss. He tries to convey that with his eyes, but alas, Price averts his gaze and pulls on his grey jacket, but doesn't zip it either, for which Soap is grateful, he's become quite partial to the color royal blue on Price.

"Off into the brutal cold we go." Soap said, flicking off the lights and going to open the door, but Price beats him there, holding it open for Soap, just like all those weeks ago.

"After you.." Price said, voice all proper and exceptionally British, Soap dipped his head in thanks and exited the shop, Price follows and shuts the door.

"Goddamn that's a beautiful sound, no sound at all." Soap clicked his tongue and locked the shop up. He puts the keys in his pocket and retrieves his black gloves from inside them, pulling both on while they make their way down the sidewalk, shoulders bumping into each other, neither man seeming to mind one bit. "You always such a bloody gentleman?" Soap asked, brows pulled together.

Price shrugged. "I can be. Some people bring it out in me."

"Some people? I'm hurt, you hold doors open and walk other people home too? And here I thought I was special." Soap said with mock-sadess, making the other man chuckle and shake his head.

"You are special." Is all Price said, but it's enough. It's enough. Soap somehow pries his dumbstruck gaze away from the other man to watch the sidewalk in front of him, not really wanting to trip, since his mind was preoccupied with many other things, none of which were walking properly. A light wind blows on them, causing a shiver to run through Soap's body.

"Shite...why does it always have to be so bloody cold out here?" Soap mumbled, he looks over at Price and sees the goosebumps on his neck, surely from the frigidness of the air. He unravels his long scarf from his neck and drapes half of it around Price's neck, looping it around once. "You looked cold." Soap said simply with a roll of his shoulders.

Their bodies have no space between them, the heat radiating flows through them both, fighting the chill of the night. Soap knows the warmth isn't only from the temperature of their bodies, but from the company of the person next to him. Price smiled at him gratefully, winding the scarf around him tighter, out of the corner of his eyes, Soap can see Price breath in the scent of it for a moment.

"Thank you. It is freezing, eh? Not so much anymore though." He said, glancing at him from the side, the back of Price's hand hits into his right gloved one, he can feel the man's fingers nudge against his own. It would be so easy to wrap his hand around Price's, feel their fingers intertwine. But he resists. He doesn't even know why anymore. He shoves the hand that isn't touching Price's into the front pocket of his pants, looking around to the quiet street with occasional passing cars and dim-lighted houses. Somehow it's like they're the only two people in the world.

"Tell me, Price, you've got to have some flaws. Besides what you brought up earlier, is there anything you're bad at?" Soap asked with a smirk.

Price strokes his beard thoughtfully, thinking it over for a few seconds. "I'm rubbish at starting new books, there's a huge stack in my room of unread ones. I just end up re-reading the same old novels over and over.. Your turn."

"Hmm ok, even though I can make a dammed good cup of coffee..I..can't cook, at all. Before Roach moved in, Ghost and me ordered take out every day. I used to do an extra two hours at the gym every week to make up for that. You again."

"Sometimes I'll forget to do the dishes and end up tossing out the dirty plates and cups I don't clean."

"I'm a heavy sleeper, too heavy. The only thing that can successfully wake me up before I'm ready too is my cat or a kiss. These are the only proven methods."

Price seems to get a little flustered by the last one, and clears his throat. "Um, I only get about 4 hours of sleep a night because I'm too busy grading papers or re-watching one of the nine episodes of Sherlock."

"I should've known you were a Sherlockian..you and Ghost would have a hay day talking about that show for hours. Probably analyzing every ounce of subtext within it." Soap said with a sigh, then adds, "I'm obsessed with video games, especially ones that take me 30+ hours to beat. One time I played an entire RPG in one day, didn't leave the couch but to use the restroom."

"I'm too competitive..and tend to be a sore loser. My friend Gaz and I were at the shooting range and he hit more targets than me. Not my proudest moment when I went over to his winning target paper and shot it..about 40 times. May have also took it out on his innocent watermelon." Price admitted, a touch of shame in his voice.

Soap can't contain his laughter at that one. "I bet your fruit killing skills are remarkable." Soap said, highly amused, Price nudged him lightly at the jest. "My bathroom counter is stocked with hair products. I spend more time on my hair than any other routine." He runs his fingers carefully through his styled mohawk.

"Whatever you do, it looks good. Hm..I can't get enough of horror films. Bad ones, good ones, cheesy ones. All of 'em."

"I have to say that is not what I was expecting. What's your favorite movie?" Soap asked.

"The horror movie thing is more of a guilty pleasure, my real favorite film is Black Hawk Down, predictable, I'm sure. Yours?"

"Good one." Soap approved. He thinks over his answer carefully before he voices it, making a conscious effort to not say Raiders of the Lost Ark, purely for Price's slight resemblance to Indiana Jones. "I'd say..Trainspotting or Fight Club. Not only for the shirtless men, of course." Soap half-lied, kicking a pebble on the ground, Price saw right through the lie and smirked. "Back to the bad things."

"I sing to myself a lot." Price said.

"How's that bad? You seem like you'd have a nice singing voice." Not that Soap has imagined it.

"Most of the time it's Christmas songs..in the middle of summer."

"AH. Good thing I like Christmas." Soap told him with a grin. "I'm an octopus sleeper."

"What in the bloody hell is that?" Price asked with a perplexed look on his face.

"I tend to be a clingy sleeper. Meaning, if you're in bed with me, I'll most likely be all over you." Soap answered.

"That doesn't seem like a bad trait.." Price mumbled just on the verge of being inaudible. Soap looks over, at him, now puzzled himself, albeit in a good way. "I fall asleep with the tv on most nights."

"I lack manners and I'm a little bossy. Hence why Ghost is calls me 'sir' and 'Captain MacTavish', Roach does too."

"Same here."

"Hey, you can't take my bad trait! Plus, I don't think anyone is calling you Captain MacTavish."

"I meant that I'm bossy too. And actually, my students call me Captain Price."

"No kidding? I can see that.. You look the part, Captain Price." Soap chuckled and nudged him lightly with his elbow.

"It's just Price to you, please." Price said, smiling wryly.

"Ok, even though you sort of cheated and took mine, I'll go again. I haven't been on a date in almost 2 years." Soap admits with a sheepish grin.

"Hah! I haven't been on a date in almost 4."

"I find that hard to believe." Soap remarked skeptically.

"Believe it." Price exhaled, rubbing at his forehead.

"Enough with the 'bad stuff'. Tell me about the good things, besides the obvious. Or just something about yourself.."

"Alright..I, on the other hand, can cook fairly decent. I can make some amazing pasta." Price said. How did he know that Italian food was Soap's weakness?

"Every Saturday morning, on our late opening days at the shop, I jog through Queenswood Park. You already know I love the place.."

"I may not seem like it, but I'm a cuddler." Price had the most endearing grin on his face with the confession, almost intoxicating.

"I take a shower at night so I can sleep in later in the morning."

"I used to have a rather ridiculous mustache a couple years ago, Mac all but made me grow the rest of my facial hair out. Have to say, I do prefer the beard." Price said, itching at his facial hair.

"Appears I'm not the only one with a friend who wants to change their style. Hard to imagine you with a mustache...dick tickler." Soap chuckled at his own comment, Price gives him an unamused look, but there's a smile in his eyes. "I was a gymnast when I was a kid, still have the flexibility." Soap said with a wink, he can see the older man swallow hard, adam's apple bobbing in his throat, he imagines pressing his lips there, and now he's swallowing hard too.

It's silent for a short while before Price says, "My dad used to take me to the Hereford racetracks when he was on leave in the military. I remember how excited I'd get when he was home, I'd tug on his uniform and ask him when we were going to see the horses.." There was a deep sentimental look on Price's face when he talked about the memory with his father, he appeared younger, a child-like light in his eyes.

"When I was a kid, I'd sit up on top of the roof of our house and look at the stars. Gave my mum a heart attack when she found me up there, but I'd still keep doing it. One night she made us a little family picnic and brought it up there for dinner..dad was there too, I'll never forget it... I'm tempted to do it at our place, but the roof is all wrong for sitting with the angles and all. I miss it..but when I go in the backyard and watch the stars again, it's close enough. Reminds me of home." Soap breathed out, the corner of Price's mouth tugs up, watching him closely.

"You know, my house has a flat roof, never been up there myself, but..we could sometime..if you'd like." Price offered, eyes deep and adoring and crinkled and piercing, a look that Soap wants to keep in his memory forever.

Goddamn, he'd want nothing more than to that with Price. And he wants to say those exact words, but he keeps it simple and light, though the way he said the words is anything but. "I would. I really would."

The game ends then, the two of them deep in thought going through the other's apparent 'flaws' and facts. After learning these supposed bad traits about Price, he doesn't like him any less. In fact, he finds that he's drawn to him even more, way more. Fuck, even his flaws inspired a deep affection in him. It's nice to know Price isn't as perfect as he seems to be, that he's a human after all, not some fantasy man in a cheesy, unrealistic romance novel. Not that he's read those. Much. Damn, that's another bad trait he probably should have mentioned.

"You never told me, did you try that cigar I gave you?" Price asked, Soap's attention returns to the other man, watching as his hot breath leaves a smokey trail in the cold air with the words from his mouth.

"I did, it was amazing. And you were right, much better than a bloody cigarette. Afraid I'm spoiled now, I'll have to pick up some for myself. Villa Clara's, right?"

"You don't have to do that, whenever you want another, just let me know. Maybe I should've got you a box along with the journal."

"No, you made me more than happy enough with this." Soap pats at his chest where he keeps the journal on the inside of his jacket.

Price gives an easy shrug, as if the gift didn't mean the world to Soap. "You liked the cigar though, eh?"

"Mhm, have to say, Price, I thought you had taste before, but now I'm a real believer."

"Oh, I know I have good taste." The look he gives Soap is a little more than indicative to a deeper meaning.

"Are we still talking about cigars here?" Soap teased lightly, hitting his shoulder into Price's delicately.

"Maybe, maybe not." Price teased right back as they crossed the street, the full moon in the sky lighting their way. Soap would be totally content with the walk never ending, a thing he never thought he'd want, he slows his pace gradually, the other man does too without even noticing.

"Hmmm..you're a mystery to me sometimes. You weren't joking when you said you like to keep people guessing."

"What do you mean?" Price looked at Soap with an arched brow.

"Sometimes you bring up things, then never explain further. Like, for instance, earlier when you talked about not letting people get close to you.."

"Ah, that." Price tensed up a little, he adjusted the beanie on his head and let out a sigh. "I had a partner once, years ago, but I messed up. Apparently, I was too unavailable for him too, he got fed up and left. After that, I figured it'd be better to keep everyone at a distance, not for me, but for them. Save them from being hurt." His voice was tight with the confession, he looked up to the stars and then back to Soap reading his face.

This topic obviously upset Price, Soap instantly felt guilty for saying anything at all, but still, he wanted to know, he needed to know.. "But..what if someone wanted to get close to you, would you push them away, should they even keep trying?"

Price opened his mouth to speak, brows furrowed, but doesn't answer, closing his mouth back, apparently he doesn't have an answer to give. Soap knew that the man said he was trying to change that about himself, see more importance in love, not be so busy, unavailable. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that he was the one person that Price would let in, would reach out to on his own. He must want him in his life, right? He comes to see him enough, talks to him and sits with him, buys him a journal and fixes his stupid bloody door. But Soap figures it's best to drop the subject, not wanting to push too hard and make the other man more uncomfortable with old memories or re-open old wounds.

The walk in silence, just the sound of the wind blowing through the bare trees that lined the sidewalk and the crunching of leaves and pebbles under their shoes. They're close to Soap's home now as they round the corner of the block, his house is at the end, Soap slows his pace even more, prolonging the inevitable. Price moves his hands away from his sides and rubs them together in a failing attempt to warm them, Soap nearly told him that they could hold hands, if that would help. Only for the warmth, of course. Right. That's when Soap remembers the extra pair of gloves in the front pocket of his jacket, he reaches inside and takes the matching pair to his own out.

"Here." Soap tapped on the other man's forearm and held out the gloves for him to take, Price grabs them gratefully, giving him a small smile and sliding them on.

"You keep extra gloves in your pocket..?" Price asked, arching a brow, hands now in the process of getting toasty, they drop back down to his side, Soap sighed quietly in relief when he feels their knuckles touching again.

"A man can't have too many gloves." Soap said with a quirk of his head.

"How many pairs do you have?"

"Around..eh..40?"

"Is that an exaggeration or the hard truth?"

"The hardest of all truths, Price. You'll come to learn I have a mild obsession with collecting gloves. Have a pair in every color."

"Every color? Even say...pink?"

"Oh yes." Soap answered without hesitation.

"And I'm sure you have a pair in camo." Price said with an amused smile.

"A pair? Try ten, with all ranges of colors and prints. They probably all match your boonie hats too."

Price chuckled. "I've heard of weirder things to collect, I suppose. Guess you've noticed my vast array of hats."

"Hard not to when you wear a different one each time we see each other. What secrets do you hide under there, eh?"

"...Hair." Price said dryly.

"Clever."

"My hat boonie addiction doesn't make much sense living here, with all the rain and lack of sunshine. At least your collection of gloves is useful with the weather we get."

"Yeah, freezing and slightly less freezing." Soap mumbled, tossing the end of his scarf higher around his neck so it covers his ears.

"I know what you mean, I've lived here my whole life..don't think I've seen a day over 20°." Price muttered, his knuckles knocking into Soap's. "Why in the bloody hell do you carry two pairs at the same time though?"

"Never know when there's a poor, handsome man walking around in the middle of winter, gloveless. I'm here to make sure that doesn't happen." Soap said slyly, giving him a cheeky grin.

"And there you go being a charming bastard again..." Price's eyes crinkle at the side, unable to resist smiling back at Soap, making the younger man once again nearly lose his balance.

They walk at their leisurely pace a little further before Soap sighs sadly and comes to a stop in front of the house. "Ah, this is me." He juts his thumb out to the house behind him, then puts his hand in his pocket like the other, now standing directly in front of Price, the scarf around both their necks keeping them fairly close, agonizingly close. Price nods slowly at him, neither man seems willing to make the move for a goodbye.

"Oh, bugger." Price mumbled quietly looking up at the house and its brick exterior, Soap laughs softly.

"Let me, uh, untangle us here." Soap's voice is low and husky, Price hums a reply, eyes following his movements. Soap pulls his hands out of his pockets and goes to unwrap the scarf from Price's neck, but instead removes it from his own and wraps it fully around the other man, securing it perfectly, his gloved hands brush against Price's beard, he inwardly curses the gloves for a moment for dulling his sense of touch.

"What do you think you're doing..." Price said, squinting at him, confused. Soap loops the scarf under and over around the front of his chest, and smooths it with his hands, swallowing hard and looking up to meet Price's eyes.

"I don't have the heart to send you off without a scarf, it's not right." He feels the urge again, the pulling in his limbs to lean up and brush his lips on Price's.

"Soap, I live close to here, I'm fine, I don't need-" Price started, the look on his face is one of fond exasperation.

Soap cuts his weak protest off, "Shh, just take it, it's bloody freezing out here and you still have to get home."

Price makes a gruff noise in his throat and rolls his eyes. "There's nothing I could say to make you take it back, is there?" He asked, already knowing the answer.

"Nope. You're just gonna have to deal with me worrying about you." Soap replied cheerfully, hands still rested on the front of the man's scarf covered solid chest, he pats his hands there and reluctantly begins to remove them, but Price's, now gloved as well, hands catch them before they're gone and holds onto them, squeezing lightly.

"I think I can live with that.." He whispered, running his thumbs over Soap's knuckles tenderly, his eyes once again full of a thousand puzzles that Soap couldn't begin to decipher, his own throat is dry and his heart's pounding. He's never wanted anyone this much. His hands squeezes back on Price's with a small, wistful smile on his face, Price returns the grip before he drops Soap's hands gently out of the hold, now they're back at his side, empty and growing colder all over again.

It was Sunday night, Price had work early tomorrow, so did he, no time to invite him inside. Or there could be, perhaps. He could see it now, sitting on the couch, talking close, Hellraiser all over Price's lap, a glass of whiskey in both of their hands, a small kiss turning into a heated one, then Soap's laying face up with Price on top of him in his bed, door most definitely locked. Sometimes Soap wishes he was more like how Ghost was with Roach, bold, fearless and unafraid to tell the man how he feels, kiss him, at the very least wrap his arms around his body like he's wanted to for so long. But he's not like Ghost at all.

"Well, goodnight." Price said, Soap has trouble making words come out, lost in his own feelings and the way the light was hitting the bright blue in the older man's eyes, and just as Price goes to turn on his heel and leave, Soap stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Wait, before you go." Soap managed to say, voice rough, and on the edge of shaky.

Soap pulls a piece of folded paper out of his jacket pocket and sticks it out for Price to take, he accepts and unfolds it, revealing the drawing of the M1911, he looks up at Soap with questioning eyes.

"Soap..?"

"You can have it." Soap told him simply with a soft expression.

"But this is from your old journal."

"I know, but...I'm making new memories. That belongs to you, sir." He smiles lightly at Price, it's contagious and the other man returns it, face illuminated by the moonlight, the look in his eyes makes Soap weak in the knees all over again, he watches as the man brings the drawing closer to his face and stared at it for a few seconds.

"Looks even more beautiful than before." He murmured, running a finger along to outline of the gun.

"It's because I finished it, you caught me in the rough-sketch phase. I was obligated to at least show you it completed."

Price flipped it over and rose a brow, amused smile on his face. "Did you really write 'to John from John' on the back here?"

"Sure did."

Price chuckles at him, but soon enough, a stoic look returns to his features. "I know just the place for it. Thank you, Soap..it's lovely." He folds the picture back up carefully and places it in his coat pocket.

"Of course..no problem."

"Good night, Soap."

"Night, Price..see you tomorrow?" Soap asked hopefully.

"You bet. And thank you..for helping me believe again." Price said, an unexpected quiver in his voice. He reaches up and touches the side of Soap's face, his fingers run down the younger man's cheek and then they're gone, he gives Soap another small upturn of his lips and walks away, leaving Soap standing there, speechless yet again.

As he watched Price disappear down the dim-lit street, he wondered in the man would noticed the erased part under the other words,  ' _Here's to new memories with you -S'_

   


As soon as he walks through the door of the house, he's interrogated by Ghost and Hellraiser. There was no avoiding filling in Ghost on the evening.

"He fixed the sodding fuck of a door, bought you a new journal, walked you home, and is all around a great guy. Fuck, this guy is amazing. I think love him too."

"Shove off, Ghost. I don't...love him."

"Mhm." Ghost gave him a look that said he doesn't believe a word he said.

"..I mean..I don't think? Or I.." Soap fell backwards onto the couch, Hellraiser instantly jumps into his lap and lays there, preventing him from escaping. He clasps his hands together and rests his chin on them. Looking up to his friend, he hesitantly finishes. "I'm falling for him, Ghost."

"Falling?" Ghost stared at him in disbelief.

"Ok fine, I...fell." Soap admitted with a sigh, though still nervous and unsure.

Ghost's face changes drastically and is now smiling at him, all teeth, much like he was wearing one of those skull balaclavas. "Welcome to the true love club, mate." He slumps on the couch next to Soap. "Feels good, don't it?"

"...It does, I can see why you and Roach walk around smiling like idiots and can barely keep your hands off each other."

"That last bit is the best part, you'll find out." Ghost said, wiggling his brows at Soap.

Soap is pretty sure he already knows about both parts, so he gives Ghost a blank look and asks, "Where is Roach, anyways?"

"My poor Lovebug, he's a little incapacitated at the moment from that bloody hangover, I told him that American beer is the worst." Ghost shakes his head with a grimace on his face. "He was worried earlier that you were taking a long time to get home. See, I figured you were at Price's place finally getting laid..wasn't expecting the door thing."

"There is such a thing as taking it slow, Riley." Soap retorted sharply.

"Please, MacTavish, you can't honestly tell me you would have said no if he asked you home with him tonight."

Soap stares at him, mouth shut. Tight.

"Exactly."

 

 

 

 

Soap can't believe how good he feels when he wakes up the next morning, the sun is sort of shining for once and hitting his bare back from the window, the warmth almost lulling him back to sleep, and he nearly allows it. That is, until he remembers it's Monday. Work, of course. And Price. Two very good reasons to get up. Particularly the latter.

He sits up from his laying position and stretches his arms above his head and pushes off the bed, feeling that light and happy jittery sensation again, one that he now associates with...love? Is it? He knows he's never felt this good first thing in the morning, until these past few weeks. Until Price.

Soap styles his hair and dresses in a hurry, pulling on the usual clothing he's become associated with, black henley, camo pants, and boots, then leaves his room to head to the kitchen. He sees that Ghost and Roach's door is already open, apparently they're awake. There's a quiet patter on the floor as he's greeted with the loud meows of Hellraiser wanting, or actually, demanding his breakfast, he bends down to pet the cat, scratching behind his ears.

"Morning Hellraiser, did you wake up Uncle Roach and Uncle Ghost's lazy arses like a good boy? Come on, let's get you some food." He stands up and enters the kitchen, the cat eagerly follows, swishing all around his feet.

When he gets into the room Roach is already there, sitting at the bar of the kitchen, glass of orange juice in his hands, not looking like death twice over but like a normal human being would first thing in the morning, tired eyed, messy haired, and groggy.

"Hey Roach! Feeling better this morning?" Soap asked the younger man with a bright smile on his face, patting him on the shoulder, and fetching a can of cat food out of the cabinet.

"Um. I think? Shit, did I really almost burn the shop down yesterday with that last batch of muffins or was that some terrible dream?"

Soap gets the can opener from a drawer and opens the can, plopping the unappealing mush of food on Hellraiser's bowl with a grimace and places it on the ground, Hellraiser nudges against his leg, then started to eat. Soap turns around to face Roach, leaning on the counter.

"Hate to break it to you, mate, but that was a very real thing that happened." Soap informed him with a smirk.

Ghost strides into the room, fully dressed, and bloody hell, he's wearing the skull mask, currently pulled up above his mouth, apparently it's one of _those_ days. He sits down in the bar stool next to Roach, putting his arm around him.

"Ugh, I think I owe all of our customers free cookies, muffins, and bagels today." Roach said miserably, head falling down on the kitchen counter with a loud groan, Ghost tugs him a little closer, pulling his face off the counter with a finger under his chin.

"Lovebug, they weren't so bad!" Ghost insisted, running his fingers through the younger man's hair.

"You flat out refused to take the leftovers to Yuri and Nikolai!"

"But...I ate 'em!"

Roach stared at him with narrowed eyes and a frown. "I heard you puking not even 10 minutes later."

"Hey, that was from the leftover booze alright, not your baking." Ghost explained, eyes darting all over the room.

Soap walks over to them and puts a hand on each of their shoulders. "How about you two numptys get your shite together and we go to work, eh?"

"Yes, sir." They mumbled, then Ghost said something under his breath that sounds like 'Bloody old bastard can't wait to see his beardy boyfriend, fucking hell'. But Soap is far too happy to care.

 

  


"Move out of the way, I have some serious baking redemption to do dude..and Simon." Roach announced, busting through the perfectly silent front door of the cafe, he pulls Ghost by the face and plants a kiss on his lips, and before Ghost can even react, he's heading to the back kitchen with a wave of his hand. "Later guys, you won't be seeing me much today."

Ghost stands there, gaping at his boyfriend who was trotting away, with purpose.  
"Um...Bug is gonna be a floured covered disaster by tonight, isn't he?"

"Most likely." Soap said with a nod of his head.

"Bloody hell, I'm gonna have to drag him out of there a couple times today to make sure he does things necessary for his body to function."

"You know how Roach is..."

"That I do." Ghost pulls down his skull mask so it's covering his face fully and returns to the entrance, checking out the squeak-free door. "Price is a goddamn miracle worker..."

"Same thing I said. He didn't seem to think it was that big of thing to do."

"Not that big of a - hell, I'd kiss the guy for fixing this."

"Stick to your boyfriend, mate." Soap said with narrowed eyes.

"Of course! He's yours to stare at longingly and never snog, not mine!" Ghost quipped with a laugh. "Well, well, well, what do we have here? A dirty cup left behind when you were the one to close up last night? And you said we were the lazy ones." Ghost tsk'd at him.

"Oi, that was your table yesterday, if I recall." Soap crosses his arms.

" _Your_ boyfriend was sitting at it with _his_ cup of coffee, untouched by the looks of it, so, ergo, it then becomes your table, just stating facts."

"Uh huh." Soap stared at him expectantly.

"Whatever mate, I'll clean it, besides, then I can go in the kitchen with my Bug, so ha!"

"Real mature there. We've got 10 minutes to opening, so you better not get any cheeky ideas!" Soap shouted after his friend's retreating form. He started his own prepping for the day, not at all anxiously waiting for the afternoon so he can see Price, he glances at the clock..6 hours.

By orders from Roach, Soap writes up a quick sign and tapes it up on the outside window ' **Our cookies, muffins, and bagels aren't rubbish today, we promise. Half-off baked goods**.'

 

Not surprisingly, the sign brought in a huge crowd of people. Which, for Soap, was a blessing as much as it was curse. It made the time go by much faster than it would have otherwise, his racing thoughts also helped the matter. He greeted customers and served coffee in a daze, mind still pre-occupied on last night. Every time a new person walked through the fixed door, it reminded him of Price, with his absurdly fit body and handsome face, tools in hand. He used all the will in he could muster to stop himself from sketching non-stop today, but the pictures in his head were all but demanding to be put on paper. The brunt of the images were of a decidedly pornographic nature, but he wouldn't objectify Price like that. Not on paper, at least. Hey, he couldn't really help with the thoughts. But there were other thoughts, less dirty and more sickeningly romantic and sweet. Ghost was right, he did stare longingly at Price, because he wanted him. He didn't want to simply fuck him. He wanted to be with him, the complicated, frustrating, witty, and amazing man he was. There was only one problem...was he available for this? For him? Would he ever be?

"Hey, Soap, think you can pour me three One Shot, One Kills because holy fuck. Do you see how many people are coming in here today?" Ghost said, stumbling over to Soap at the coffee mixing station, interrupting his increasingly depressing chain of thoughts.

"Bugger off, I'm not on break, like you. Pour your own." Soap muttered to Ghost, then turns around to hand the customer her coffee. "There you go, have a nice day.." He said in the friendliest tone he can manage.

"What is the deal, mate? You seemed to have sunshine blowing out your arse this morning, now you're all broody."

"Maybe I'm trying to appear stoic and mysterious." Soap said defensively, dodging the question.

"I think you should leave that to your boyfriend, he pulls it off better."

"He's not my boyfriend." Soap mumbled, fixing his apron.

"You said just last night that you fell for him!" Ghost shot back.

"That doesn't mean we're dating, Riley." Soap responded, with a sarcastic smile.

"So? It means that you want to be."

"But..I don't know if that's what he wants."

"I have a brilliant fucking idea...talk to him and find out your damn self instead of guessing, you sappy git." Ghost pushed, voice a little more muted, but not less stern.

"Ghost, he's not even here.." Soap sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Actually, he is." Ghost told Soap, looking directly behind him.

Soap turns around and is met with the glorious smirking grin on Price's face. Soap must have been too distracted with work and his own thoughts to even noticed that it was well after 1pm already. He smiled nervously back at Price, on cue his heart rate is beating at the erratic rate it does in the greeting presence of the other man, who seemed to be wearing the exact outfit from the day they met, the black button up shirt, the same boonie hat. He would remember..since he spent days drawing him in it.

"Hm, I'm getting that feeling, the one where you know you just walked up to people talking about you." Price said, the suspicious tone disguised by a warm smile.

"Hey, you." Soap managed to greet him, the nervous smile turns bright and easy when he sees the man. He came. That must mean there's a chance, right? The look in his eyes sparks a hope.

"Hey, Soap. Thought I should return these to you." Price said placing the scarf on the counter and holding the gloves, tapping them on the surface, beckoning Soap to take them.

"Nah, you can keep 'em. I can't bear to think of you walking home in the blistering cold without a pair of gloves or a scarf." Soap told him, pushing them back towards Price. "Besides, blue is your color."

Price gave a resigned sigh and took the things back, stuffing the gloves in his pocket, and tossing the scarf over his shoulder. "Of course you wouldn't let me give them back. You weren't kidding when you said you were bossy, Soap."

"Guilty." Soap said with a shrug, a flirtatious smile flashing on his lips.

"Yeah, he is a demanding prick sometimes, I tell ya." Ghost interrupted their conversation, leaning on the end of the counter next to them both. The mask is still on his head, but Soap can tell he is grinning like a sodding idiot. "Hi, Price, nice to see ya, mate. Thanks for fixing that bloody door. You, uh, really made Soap here happy about that. It was a pain in his arse for months. Always complaining about the thing." Ghost said, elbowing Soap in the side. Soap rubs the back of his neck anxiously and gave Ghost a look that read, 'don't even think about telling him you'd kiss him for fixing it.'

"Ghost, hi." He nods a greeting to Ghost, not even phased by the mask on his face, he's already seen it before a few times. "Truthfully, I fixed the bloody thing for me too..I come in here nearly everyday and I was beginning to hear it in my head when I was going to sleep. Rather insufferable to say the least."

"Gah, tell me about it. You have no ideas how many nights I'd be laying there, peacefully, then, all of sudden there's a maddening squeak, and it's all I can hear." Soap said with a groan, rubbing his temples.

Ghost laughed at the two out of their shared misery. "See you mates later, I got a Bug to check on." He waves at Price and gives Soap a serious look with a twist of his head, not letting their previous discussion and his advice to just talk to the man be forgotten.

Price gives a slight wave of his fingers to Ghost and turns his head back to Soap. "Sleep better last night?" Price asked.

"Yes, much. Dozed right off without any trouble." Soap said, with a quirk of his lip, trailing a finger across the counter

"Good."

Soap bites his lip, trying to figure out the right way to go about this, how to say how he feels, and ask the other man straight up how he does too and end this guessing game, the does he, doesn't he. But the words are all jumbled in his head..and confessing right in the middle of work? Not the most romantic of places.

"You hungry? No doubt you saw the sign outside, Roach is back on his A-game, cookies, muffins and bagels are up to our high quality standards." Soap said with a charming smile, easily masking the internal conflict in his head.

"Starving, actually, I'll have the usual bagel, I never thought I'd find one that would be so bloody delicious."

"Hah, that's what they all say. Personally, I can't get enough of the muffins. But I can't have you being starving, not on my watch." Soap told him, then leans in a little closer, whispering. "Don't tell anyone, but, I'll get you one straight from the oven."

"It'll be our secret." Price said, giving him a wink.

Well, so much for Soap having control over his feelings, the cheesiest smile broke on his face at the wink, as he practically floated away into the back kitchen. Soap was in so much of a dreamy state that he didn't even pay much mind to Ghost sitting on the red chair with Roach on his lap, making out, while the latest batch of bagels cooled, they didn't seem to noticed him there either. He gets a clean blue plate and uses tongs to place the still hot bagel on the plate and walks back to the front where Price and all his bearded glory is standing, waiting. Fuck, he wanted nothing more than to see that sight for the rest of his life.

"Here you go, on the house, or on me." Soap insisted, placing the plate in the other man's hands, then adds, "And before you protest, this is another one you won't win, sorry."

Price closes his mouth that was going to argue against the matter, and licks at his bottom lip, sighing. "I'm not used to letting others get their way this much."

"Or maybe, you're not used to letting people be kind to you, to care for you. Not used to allowing yourself happiness." Soap said, crossing his arms. The look on Price's face said everything. He hit the nail right on the head.

"Right..." Price murmured, brows knit together. "I'll let you get back to work..thanks, Soap." His voice was still soft, he turns away and heads to the table in the corner.

Soap stared hard at Price, sitting at the table, looking quite puzzled himself. Price's 'thanks' reminded Soap of the one from the previous night, the thanks for helping him believe again..what did that mean? Believe in what? He could still feel the gentle touch that Price left on his face, bringing his own fingers up to his cheek, his body tingles with the memory. How close they had been. Soap shakes his head to snap himself out of the intense stare, people were probably thinking he was awfully weird for zoning out on Price like he was.

Ghost returns from the kitchen, pan of bagels in hand, face re-masked. "So...? Judging by your face you either talked to him and it went badly or you didn't talk to him and you're having some internal angst going on up in that mohawked head of yours." Ghost said as he started setting all the bagels into the display case. Soap ignores him, not really sure how to answer, and opts to actually doing his job and trying to avoid constantly glancing over at Price since more customers entered, no doubt wanting Roach's infamous baked goods, lured in by the smell wafting outside.

 

It's a face paced twenty minutes, Soap and Ghost lost count how many cookies, bagels, muffins, and coffees they served after 114.

"Oh fuck, Kingfish." Ghost said sounding disgruntled. He'd also been very upset about what happen to Soap's journal, knowing how much it meant to his friend.

Soap instantly tenses up, of course it was too good to be true to believe that Makarov was really gone for good after the incident from a couple days ago. At least he didn't show up on his birthday or yesterday. Still, he had the strong urge to strangle the man with his belt, he wasn't sure he could deal with him today.

"Mate, I'll take him this time." Ghost told Soap, much to his relief.

Soap picks up a full pot of hot Back on the Grind coffee and goes to make his rounds, filling up cups on his tables for the day, which was exceptionally more since Roach was otherwise occupied, baking like a madman. He purposefully walks by Price's table, where he's still sitting, eating his bagel and not surprisingly grading papers, but he does look up to Soap as he's passing, the expression on his face making him feel warm, comforted, and as special as Price said he was to him. No one ever looked at him that way before. Bloody sexy Captain Price.

He figures it'd be a good idea to pay attention to where he was walking, considering the fact that he's holding a hot pot of coffee. But it seems that Makarov wasn't doing the same, or was more likely trying to run into him, which was an extraordinarily bad idea. Makarov bumps into him forcefully, as a result the pot of coffee spills all over his very expensive, horrid smelling lighted colored suit. Not one drop hit the floor.

"Oops, sorry." Soap said, mimicking Makarov from the day he spilled coffee all over his journal, not one ounce of sincerity present, but dammit this was a long time coming, he couldn't hold it in.

"You fucking...unbju!" Makarov spit out at Soap, grabbing him by the arm with a tight grip, but Price is there first, shoving him away from behind.

"Hey, bastard!" Makarov whipped his head around to face Price, only to be met with a fist, straight to his nose. The full coffee shop is suddenly filled with cheers and clapping, apparently Makarov is hated as much as he hates others. Makarov looks around, mortified, and runs out of the front door holding his nose, cursing in Russian.

Soap is stunned, he looks over at Price who seems to be relatively calm, considering the fact that he just punched Soap's archenemy square in the face.

"Price...?" Soap said carefully, touching Price's arm lightly, the other man looks at him, expression softened.

The cheering died down at this point, so Soap pulled gently Price by the elbow, and walked him over to the table in the corner, the one he now called in his head..their table, and sat in the seat beside him, chair angled so he could be closer to Price. As close as possible.

"Did you just punch Makarov in the face?" Soap asked the obvious, playing the scene in his head again..it all happened so fast.

"Judging by the look of my knuckles right now, I'd say, yes." Price replied, shaking his right hand and examining it, Soap reaches over takes his hand in his own, giving it a good look over, there's old scars on his reddened knuckles, long-healed and faded, he brushes his fingers over the bones lightly. All in all, his hand appears undamaged, unlike Makarov's nose surely is. He turns his face up and is met with Price's gaze unfaltering and guarded, a careful vulnerability there.

"You didn't have to do that..." Soap breathed out, he doesn't let go of Price's hand, holding it firmly, but delicate.

"The hell I didn't, the bastard deserved it." Price muttered in a clipped tone.

"Oh, I know he did, he's had it coming for a long time...but I mean..you didn't have to do it for me. I could have handled him, if he did try to punch me, I would have knocked him on his arse."

"You could have took care of him." Price agreed with no sense of doubt in his voice, but no regret for doing it himself either.

"He's..mostly all words. Speaking of, what the bloody hell did he say anyways? You speak Russian?"

"I do, and he threatened to kill you..he's been saying a lot of arsehole things these past few weeks..but he went too far today. That threat seemed more than just words.." Price said, seething quietly.

Soap isn't sure what to say..the man just did something he's been wanting to do for months. But that wasn't the only thing making him lost for words..the fact that Price was so mad to even do it in the first place, the fact that he still seems riled up, but is sitting here, letting Soap touch him, even looked soothed by the feel of his fingers.

"You, uh, have a killer punch." Soap tried to lighten the mood, continuing the stroking motions, seeing how much it calmed the other man down.

"Heh, thanks." Price said, slightly abashed.

"Seriously, where did you learn to do that? It was really impressive."

Price shrugged. "I work out."

"Where at? MMA classes or something? Don't tell me you're apart of a underground fight club..." Soap eyes him up, at this point, Price being in a secret fight club would explain a lot.

"Nothing that interesting, just a punching bag. Plus, I've had my fair share of fights in the past. I'm sure you can tell from my nose."

Soap drops his head and laughs, as if there was any way he didn't know every detail of the older man's face, as if he didn't memorize and love every part. He looks up at him through his lashes, and sighs.

"Why did you really do it, Price?" Soap asked him, no longer beating around the bush.

"Soap, I-" Price started apprehensively, eyebrows drawn down. Their eyes were locked and faces moved closer together, Soap held his breath, his eyes start to flutter closed, this was it. Price looked to the side, catching a glimpse of the clock on the wall. "Bollocks..I'm gonna be late for class, I need to go." Then he was gone, out the door, before Soap could fully open his eyes.

 

 

  
Soap didn't know what to make of what happened today, how the hell had the day started so good, so damn hopeful, then end like this? The only thing he's sure of, the one thing that is a fact is that he doesn't want to give Price up, can't even begin to imagine it. Even if the other man is never available to be with him, he still wants to see him, be his friend, at least, even if he'd always want more.

"He just left?" Ghost frowned, holding his mask in his hands, sitting on the couch, Roach at his side.

"Yes..." Soap groaned miserably.

"He just fucking left you there?" Ghost said, flinging his hands about.

"Yes. Can we stop talking about this, for fuck's sake." Soap shoved off the couch and paced in the living room.

"Simon, if Soap doesn't wanna talk about it, maybe we should...have a video game marathon? Take his mind off the subject?" Roach suggested, shooting concerned looks to Soap's pacing form.

"I don't get it...you two were perfect..he even punched that sodding arsehole of a man today like we've been wanting to do for months!" Ghost said.

"It's not his fault, Ghost..." Soap stops pacing and crosses his arms.

"What?"

"He already..warned me, indirectly, I guess, that he might be..unavailable. And, to be fair, he did have a class to teach."

"That didn't stop him from coming to the shop everyday to see you, did it? He could have came in after work like yesterday!" Ghost countered.

"I know. But..he said there was things he was trying to change about himself. He doesn't even think he deserves someone. He's not a bad guy, Ghost, I just need to give him time to figure it out."

Ghost sighs. "He already knows what he wants, but he's afraid. I..can relate. Before Bug, love was a scary thing. The man needs to let go and let the love flow. But you're right, he needs time. Some, at least. If he takes too long, I suggest marching down to the university yourself and kissing him right in the middle of a class. Pretty kinky and romantic."

"Is that your professional advice, Simon?" Roach asked with a raised brow.

"I can be helpful sometimes."

"You can?" Soap and Roach say in unison.

Ghost tosses a throw pillow at each of them.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Soap takes Ghost's advice. Well, the first part at least, as much as the latter was tempting, and gives Price time. If that's what he needed, then he would give it. Time. Right.

A week passes, and then a few more days. Patience doesn't seem to be with Soap's strong suit. Work, in theory, should have been a good distraction. But all he could think of was Price walking through the door, smirk on his lips, hat on his head, and always saying the right thing to cheer him up or make him laugh. So although time did pass, his pining grew, his need to see him grew. Everyday.

There were smoke breaks and there were art breaks. Today called for both. Soap decided to pass on sitting in the red chair in the back room after seeing how Ghost and Roach obviously liked to spend their breaks and instead, lean on the wall outside the front of the shop, in the dead of winter, when it was snowing. For whatever crazy reason.

He pulls both a pack of cigarettes and his journal from his hoodie pocket, taking the cigarettes in his hand hand and packing them against his left, rapping it about five times, and pulls one out and puts it between his lips. He half-expects Price to show up beside him and light it with his own lighter, he glances up and there's no one there but strangers, passing by or entering the shop, not the one person that made him feel ridiculously happy, warm, wanted, and all sappy. He's never connected with someone in every way and on every level, like he has with Price.

The cigarette stays put in between lips, he opens his journal to a new drawing he started a few days ago, Price with a flurry of emotions in his eyes standing outside his house with Soap's scarf wrapped around his neck. He sketches the details of his expression, but he can't get it right, it never does justice to seeing it in person. He sighs and drops the pencil to the middle of the journal and ends up having a staring contest with the drawing, the sketch of Price's wins and he closes the journal up, feeling silly pining after a picture. He returns it to his pocket and fishes out his lighter, but it fumbles out of his hand and falls to the concrete sidewalk. Sending a glare its way, he bends down and picks it up, only to end up shoving it back in his pocket, pulling the cigarette from his lips and tossing it in there too. His urge to smoke, lost. He ends up staying down on the lightly snow covered ground, ass cold, but he doesn't care.

"I'm sorry." A voice said softly.

Soap is just on the edge of shocked when he hears Price's voice hit his ears, and is filled with the unmistakable warmth again, and the happiness, but it's suppressed, he forces it to be, not sure of what's to come. He looks up to see Price standing next to him, hands deep in his trouser pockets, thick grey coat, and the blue scarf around him, it makes the corner of his mouth tug up. The image is like a comforting hug, familiar and warm.

"For what? Not kissing me or not showing up for over a week? Because really, you don't need to apologize for the not kissing part, would be pretty prickish of me to expect an apology for that. Avoiding me for over a week though, that, I'm a little upset about. Only cause I missed you." Soap said honestly and raw, suddenly not afraid to say how he feels.

Price shuffled his feet on the ground. "I..missed you too. And I'm sorry about it all, I suppose. Sorry for leaving, sorry for sending confusing signals, sorry for not showing up for a while. Just, sorry."

"It's fine, Price. I'm not mad at you. If you don't want this, then we can..we can be friends. I just like having you in my life. However that is." Soap confessed and started to stand up, but Price is there with a hand on his own, pulling him up. They're face to face, both of their hands are bare, the contact makes his skin tingle all over, but Price removes his hand from Soap's and it's gone. "You want some coffee, the usual?" Soap asked, struggling to keep his voice from revealing the ache of pain inside.

"I hate coffee." Price said with a shrug of his shoulders.

Soap stared at him in confusion. "...What?"

"Coffee, I bloody hate it. I prefer tea."

"If you hate coffee...then why in the bloody hell have you been coming here all these weeks, nearly every day for a cup?" Soap stuttered out.

"To see you." He told Soap like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Me? You came to see me..?"

"Yes. I wanted to try a new place out, give coffee a second chance. You lads make an alright cup..you do especially, but still, hate the stuff. I do rather like the bagels though...mostly the barista who serves them." Price gives him the smirking grin.

"Price..where're you going with this?" Soap's heart is pounding, eyes flickering all over the other man's face.

Price face changes drastically, now serious, he swallows hard. "You made me believe in a lot of things again, Soap. Love, mainly. I may hate coffee, but...I think, well I'm sure now, actually, I love you." Soap blinks at him, his heart momentary stops beating, his voice is stuck in his throat but he fights the tightness, clearing his throat and does the thing he's been wanting to do for weeks, he takes Price by the hand and pulls him closer, placing the man's hand on his hip.

"Fuck...all this time. God, Price, I love you too." Then, they're kissing. It's a freeing feeling, Soap feels almost giddy, high on the touch of their lips colliding, the way their bodies fit perfectly together. It's all he's wanted to do for so long. He pulls Price from the back of his neck and tighter into the kiss, kissing him, slow and deliberate and wonderful. Price's other hand joins the first, placing it in on the other side of the younger man's hip, Soap's free hand moves to Price's back, holding them together.

It's like a goddamn romance movie, the two of them frozen in time, in a seemingly endless kiss, the snow starts to fall on them, dusting in Soap's mohawk. Soap shivers when he feels some hit his scarf-less neck, so Price wraps his arms around his waist, his arms combating the cold chill, his lips do the job even better, kissing him soundly. Price kisses with intent, a determined focus, nothing in their surroundings could distract him from the movements of their lips, his rough palms move up and rub firmly at Soap's back, in a almost possessive way that feels so damn good. Soap kisses much differently, eager, and amazed at every new sensation, chasing after each feeling, his own hand on the nape of Price's neck, stroking and gripping, he can't let go. And they don't, for some time.

When they break apart, Soap's pupils are dilated, and Price is breathing heavily, his breath warming Soap's mouth, he's beaming down at Soap, a gorgeous sight. Soap's hand finally finds its way to Price's beard, stroking the hair with the tips of his fingers, just as soft as he thought it would be, but even better. Price leans his head down and rubs his beard into Soap's cheek, the sensation tickling and comforting, he touches the hair now with his lips, kissing from the bottom of Price's chin to the corner of his mouth, making the older man chuckle, squeezing him tighter in his arms.

"I knew you had a thing for the beard."

"Is it that bloody obvious?" Soap mumbled, lips still moving across his beard and back to his lips, kissing him firmly for a few seconds. Price pulls away, hands rubbing at Soap's lower back, both men a little breathless.

"Mmm yes, especially in your drawings...the details on those beards..spectacular." Price said, smirking, of course.

Soap groans in embarrassment, his head falls onto the other man's chest, shaking back and forth. "You just had to see those."

Price merely laughs at Soap's misfortune, running his fingers through the man's mohawk "Hmm, wonder what else you could draw..?" He muttered quietly.

Soap lifted his head off of him. "Bloody hell, Price, are you suggesting I make erotic art? Because, if you are, you would be 100% right. You didn't see the hidden back parts of my old journal, they didn't get ruined at all.." Soap said with a cheeky grin.

"You'll have to show me those sometime." Price said, looking positively naughty.

"If you show me your M1911, then we have a deal." Soap returns the look.

"Fair trade, say..tonight, I walk you home..to my place?" Price questioned with a sideways glance, a smile threatening to show up on his lips.

Soap lightly swaps at the brim of Price's hat, snow gently flutters down from it, he laughs, a deep, low sound, Price's smile breaks through, he picks at the flakes trapped in Soap's mohawk, some blend with the few silver hairs mingled with the black.

"Thought you'd never ask." Soap answered. "Guess we'll have to start a new tea line here at RSASS and Shine. Have to keep our loyal customers happy."

Price looks thoughtful for a moment then says, "I suggest a nice black tea with a hint of ginger and gunpowder green tea leaves. Call it..RPTea..like RPG? Suits your theme."

"Fuck, that's brilliant. I think I'll have to hire you also as a flavor consultant and tea developer..because honestly, I'm pretty shite with tea."

"I'd love to, gives me an excuse to be here more often."

"You never needed an excuse.." Soap reaches up and cups Price's face in his hand, and just...looks at him, his eyes filled with so much care and emotion that Soap thought he might burst, and after a moment's hesitation he asks his own question. "Tell me something, why 141?"

"That was the time we met. 1:41 pm." Price leans down and kisses him once more.

"You romantic bastard." Soap said with a laugh.

"Now tell me..."

"Anything." Soap promised.

"What the hell does the name Soap mean, anyways?"

"It's a funny story, actually..."


End file.
